


Wendy, Darling

by KamikazeSoundSociety, L_M_Biggs



Series: The Fairytale Series [1]
Category: Disney - All Media Types, Peter Pan & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aftercare, Anal, Anal Sex, Biting, Breathplay, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, Face-Sitting, Female Captain Hook, Fingering, Fisting, Genderbending, Group Sex, HEED THE DAMN TAGS YOU ANIMALS, Heavy BDSM, Humiliation, Lesbian Sex, Man-Hating Lesbians, Multi, Nipple Play, Non-Consensual Spanking, Oral Sex, Orgy, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Sexual Coercion, Spanking, Squirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 12:21:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13903929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KamikazeSoundSociety/pseuds/KamikazeSoundSociety, https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_M_Biggs/pseuds/L_M_Biggs
Summary: "They’re women, like you. They’ll be able to take you in and you can be a pirate, like them."(In which Wendy Darling returns to Neverland, all grown up, and into the arms of Captain Jane Hook.)





	Wendy, Darling

**Author's Note:**

> [ Link to the pretty triptych moodboard for this fic here.](http://kamikazesoundsociety.tumblr.com/post/171672522027/whileyoustillcan-in-which-wendy-returns-to)

The hook flashed beneath the summer sun, its cruel point sharp beneath the angle of her jaw. Wendy struggled as Smee, a thickly muscled woman with skin as black as ebony and a shaven head, held her firm for the Captain to examine. Captain Hook sneered, the heavy black curls beneath her tricorn hat swinging forward; Wendy could smell something dark, and heavy, and sinister, like tobacco smoke and her father’s whisky and something else, musky and almost sweet. The scent settled in her lungs and Captain Hook’s eyes were as fierce as the sky above them.

She was being judged, and Hook found her wanting.

And then the Captain spoke: “Too young. Come back when you’re a little older, Wendy Darling, and I’ll have a place for you on this ship. You have my word.”

Wendy had a sensation, sick and dizzying, of falling from a great height; blue sky above her, blue ocean beneath her, and the white bone curve of Captain Hook’s smile like the searing sun on the horizon. Hook was turning away, and she spoke carelessly to one of her women, “Toss her overboard.”

And then she was in the heavy grip of the crewmen, hot palms burning her skin even through her nightgown, lifting her effortlessly. She knew, in her heart of hearts, that if Captain Jane Hook had ordered her broken in half that she would not have been able to breathe before the order would be carried out with brutal efficiency. Her feet left the wooden deck; fingers gripped her upper arms cruelly; and Wendy was tossed over the edge of the ship’s railing, tumbling to the salt water below.

The impact knocked the breath from her lungs, a slap that exploded through her body and made every bone threaten to shatter. It was warm only for a moment before Wendy was screaming, salt water rushing down her throat and her heart gripped with sick fear. She sank down, down, down, further and further, and when she thought that surely she must hit the bottom of the Neverland Lagoon and her body screamed for air, she took a gasping breath.

The crisp autumn night air filled her lungs. When she opened her eyes she realised she was standing upon the nursery window sill, teetering dangerously close to the edge wearing nothing but her nightgown, perfectly dry from head to toe. The midnight breeze lapped at her ankles, tangling her gown about her, and she stumbled backwards, into the nursery and tumbling onto the rug on the floor. She panted for breath, trembling with fear coursing icy and sharp through her veins, sending pins and needles through her legs and arms.

As her eyes rolled back and she collapsed on the floor, she could have sworn that she saw through the window of the nursery, a pirate ship floating on the clouds, and the raucous laughter of a pirate crew full of women torn away on the wind.

* * *

 There comes a time in every young girl’s life where she must grow up. Sometimes it happens gradually over time and it is a revelation had after the fact. Sometimes it happens all at once, not with a whimper but with a bang. Wendy had watched her friends forced to grow up slowly, their curls pulled back tight, their education turning inwards to the home, towards their future husbands and children and families, away from fairy stories and daydreams.

Standing in her childhood nursery before the window, Wendy felt that suddenly, and without warning, she had been forced to grow up. Her stories and dreams and wishes were ripped away from her hands without warning, with nary a whimper of acquiescence; as befitted the eldest daughter of a nouveau riche banking family.

There was nothing _wrong_ with Jonathan Thimbledon. He was, by all accounts, a rather nice young man, with his father’s long nose and his mother’s black curls. He had blue eyes, and thin lips and a rather sombre face. He had a house in Kensington Gardens and was reading Law at Oxford, a few years Wendy’s senior, but at her age of eighteen it was good for her to have an older, worldlier beau.

“Someone who could show you the ways of the world,” Mr. Darling had said in a confident, haughty tone. “Not some _boy,_ wet behind the ears, but a _man_.”

A man she would _marry_ , Wendy thought, staring at the fat diamond ring on her finger. Jonathan had proposed that very afternoon; feeling the eyes of her expectant parents and her jealous friends and the glittering peers her father and mother worked so hard to impress, she had said yes.

Wendy Darling’s childhood had ended like a gunshot going off.

Sitting in the nursery she had not slept in for years, Wendy felt something desperate clawing at her chest. It pressed upon her lungs, crunching away at her breastbone with the pressure of her fear and anxiety.

She had never wanted to remain a child, of course not. She had known that eventually, after her adventures in Neverland, that she would have to grow up. Even so, she wished that she didn’t have to face a future with Jonathan Thimbledon and his perpetually runny nose, his watery blue eyes. Now she faced a lifetime of him, having children by him, scolding nannies and governesses and teaching manners and smiling vacuously at tea parties and becoming lost in a sea of talc powder and silk dresses. Wendy had never dreaded anything as much as she did that future. Not mermaids drowning her, not Tinkerbell’s vindictive jealousy, not the thought of walking the plank of the Jolly Roger to become an afternoon snack for a hungry crocodile.

In Neverland she never would have had to grow up.

In Neverland it didn’t matter that the mermaids in the Lagoon wanted to kill her, or that Tigerlily kissed Peter and he let her. It didn’t matter that Tinkerbell had pulled her curls and tried to betray her and the boys. It didn’t even matter that likely she would face the terrifying Captain Jane Hook once more.

If Wendy could do it all over again she would have stayed.

Wendy’s head snapped up as the thought struck her, her eyes widening as she turned to her nightstand.

The nightstand that Tinkerbell had been caught in.

Pulling open the drawer the dust looked like just that, simple, ordinary dust lining the bottom of the drawer. There was a handful of dress pins and sewing needles and a half-rusted thimble and Wendy ran her fingertips through the dust.

It wasn’t just dust, she told herself desperately, wiping her hands on the ends of her nightgown. It was fairy dust, shaken free from Tinkerbell’s wings. She thought hard of Peter and Tinkerbell and the Lost Boys and the Mermaids and Captain Hook. She even thought of the monstrous crocodile who had swallowed the clock, and its toothy grin as it stared at her from the depths of the lagoon. Wendy opened the window and stood on the window ledge, her toes gripping the sill tightly. She shut her eyes and did not look down.  

“Faith. Trust. Pixie dust,” Wendy whispered to herself, imagining flying, imagining soaring into the sky, imagining standing on Big Ben’s hour hand with Peter’s palm pressed to her own -

And leapt.

* * *

 Peter Pan had not changed at all.

Where Wendy could feel the changes in herself, both physical and emotional, Peter was still as carelessly, childishly free as she remembered. Without the innocent veneer of childhood, however, she saw in the set of his mouth and the curve of grin a sort of thoughtless cruelty.  It was less delightful than they had been when she had been a child and had not known what boys like that would grow into.

His face was no longer sweet and charming to her either, no longer handsome in a way that her mind had idealised as a child. He looked as doughy-faced and scrunch-nosed as any other boy that had tried to steal a wet kiss from her. His insolence was no longer so easily forgivable, sitting upon his great chair in the Lost Boys’ den, demanding stories. If they weren’t the sort he liked - the kind where she praised his great deeds and ego, he would fly off in a terrible rage and try to push her out of the tree, the other boys bounding around her and laughing and grinning their gap-toothed smiles.

She did not recognise a single one of them. She wondered, very quietly in the back of her mind, what had happened to the Lost Boys she’d known.

In an attempt to escape growing up, Wendy had found herself forced to be Mother to all of these boys, a position that she would have at least had some time to grow into back home.

“Wendy!” Peter called as she turned and climbed out of the den, sticky and sweating in the heavy jungle, her hair slipping its ribbons. “Wendy, don’t you run away from me!” He stamped his foot and placed his fists upon his hips, glaring at her in an attempt to be commanding.

When she was younger, Wendy would have actually obeyed, would have bowed her head and apologized timidly and thought that Peter surely knew better than her.

Perhaps he did, perhaps he knew Neverland better than she did, but Wendy had learned that no boy or man well and _truly_ wanted what was better for her.

“I’m sick of you!” Wendy felt tears pricking at her eyes, and for a moment she thought of her father, of Jonathan Thimbledon, and her uncaring brothers and all the other men and boys who had given her orders and stolen choices from her, had forced her into corners that good manners and fine upbringing dictated that she not fight her way out of. “I’m sick of little _boys_ like you!”

And with that thought she turned and ran through the jungle.

In Neverland there was never quite a sense of _realness_. Wendy recalled, briefly, that Hook’s clock ran fast or slow depending on Peter’s mood, that the compasses in Hook’s grand cabin whirled aimlessly with no real sense of direction. But one thing was inevitable about the island: if Wendy ran for long enough, she would come to water.

Hook had sent her back once, when she had found Wendy Darling wanting, at thirteen years old, had told her to return when she was older.

She would have a place for her.

There were no men in Captain Jane Hook’s crew, and no Lost Boys were welcome with their childish ways. There were only women, grown women, strong women, women who wielded guns and swords and cursed and drank and _fought_ when they felt that they had been slighted.

Wendy wanted that, desperately.

At last she burst through the treeline, panting, her hair a tangled snarl at the base of her neck. Before bed, her lady’s maid had carefully braided it into a neat tuck, but the ribbons had come loose and trailed down her back, streaming out behind her as she ran. Her nightdress - plain white cotton, embroidered at the hem and the waist with twining vines and morning glories - had been torn by the reaching limbs of the trees of the forest. She’d lost her slippers, too. But Wendy found she didn’t mind.

She slowed to a walk, picking her way through the jagged rocks; they were cold beneath her feet. The sun was just beginning to rise, streaks of indigo across the sky, lighting up the lagoon like a mirror.

And there, in the distance, a sinister silhouette against the early morning sky, was the Jolly Roger.

Wendy felt a low frisson of childhood fear, coiling through her stomach. _Don’t be silly,_ she told herself sternly, trying hard to push away that childish fright. _They’re women, like you. They’ll be able to take you in and you can be a pirate, like them_.

Wendy thought of Captain Hook as she remembered her, five years ago. The Captain had towered over her then, and it seemed likely she would do so now, too. Wendy had been short at thirteen and even now at eighteen she was still small and slender, narrow-shouldered and narrow-hipped. Wendy remembered the Captain’s wicked smile, and her bright, mean eyes, the oiled curls of her long dark hair, and, worst of all, the cruel gleam of that silver hook.

Wendy shivered.

But she was no longer a little girl, she thought to herself earnestly, straightening up with as much bravado as she could muster. She was a _woman_ now, and Captain Hook would surely be glad to have one more pair of hands upon the Jolly Roger.

There was no Tinkerbell now to give her dust for flying, no row boats moored in the bay. Wendy was glad she hadn’t been wearing any shoes. She waded into the lagoon and began a delicate breast stroke towards the ship.

* * *

 One thing that Wendy had not factored into her calculations was what, exactly, she’d do once she actually _got_ to the ship. It was also much, much farther than she’d initially thought. By the time she was close enough to make out the individual silhouettes of sailors on the deck, the sun was high, beating down on her face relentlessly. Her cheeks and forehead and nose all ached with the unpleasant sting of sunburn. Her body ached terribly, unused to exercise more strenuous than an afternoon session of croquet.

She did not have much longer to go. It wasn’t long after that that a cry went around the ship, women’s voices raising and calling out to one another, a group of them assembling on the side of the deck closest to her, pointing. Wendy had been spotted.

On the highest point of the deck stood a woman, silhouetted against the glare of the sun, tall and set apart from the rest; she stood still as the rest of the sailors dashed about the ship, crying out to one another and adjusting the sails. Slowly, slowly, the enormous galleon ship turned her colossal bulk around and began to cut through the water towards her.

Wendy could have cried in relief. She kept still, treading water, trying not to swallow more mouthfuls of salty water than strictly necessary. Even so, as the ship got closer, the waves around her began to pick up and Wendy was soon rising and falling, tumbling through the water like a cork on the tide. She struggled, trying to keep her head upright and trying to find a calm spot in the water, but she was so exhausted that she felt that no matter how hard she tried to swim against the current, the water was always stronger.

It wasn’t until she heard a wet slap of something hitting the water and something yanked hard around her waist that she realised a row boat had been lowered to greet her, and one of the sailors had lassoed her with a rope around her waist like she was a rabbit in a noose. She supposed she should feel insulted, but really all she felt was grateful as she clung to the rope dragging her back to the row boat.

“Oh, thank you, thank you -“ Wendy gasped as strong hands caught her wrists and hauled her out of the water, and she hit the floor of the little wooden row boat like a landed fish, panting for breath and jelly weak. She closed her eyes for a moment and revelled in the sensation of rest, at last, feeling as weak as a new-born kitten.

Someone barked an order - “Portside turn!” - and then the little boat was skipping back through the water. Wendy opened her eyes.

There were two other women in the boat, one rowing, one at the tiller. The rower was tanned and with wavy dark hair pulled away from her face by a bright green kerchief, wearing men’s breeches and a thin white shirt that threatened to split at the shoulders as she strained at the oars, cutting through the water with agile strength that belied the sickening roll of the waves. She was quite immersed in her task, frowning and gritting her teeth as she pulled at the oars, thick cords of muscle jumping in her neck and forearms. The sailor directing the rudder - the one who had pulled her from the lagoon - had her hair shorn close to her scalp, and skin that was nut brown. She was turned away from Wendy, but like the other woman she wore simple, practical clothes and her skin gleamed in the sun.

Wendy thought she ought to get up and introduce herself, but the small boat was rolling so wildly in the waves that getting up seemed rather imprudent, so she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees and shuffled over to cling to the edge of the boat. Neither sailor spared her a glance as they expertly managed the small boat back to the colossal bulk of the Jolly Roger.

A rope ladder hung uncoiled over the edge. Wendy eyed it uncertainly.

“Go on,” said the sailor with the shorn hair, and her voice was at once higher and softer than Wendy had been expecting. “Start climbing.”

“But I don’t - I’m afraid I’ve never -” Wendy began, and the woman who had been rowing barked a laugh as she threw a tethering rope to tie the rowboat to the ship. “Course she hasn’t,” the sailor said to the other, hauling the rope tight. “Look at her. Pretty cotton nightgown. Skin like milk cream. She en’t ever done anything harder ‘n thread a needle.”

Wendy sputtered indignantly, but the two women laughed as they tethered the rowboat. In a sudden movement, the woman with the green kerchief had looped the same rope they’d used to haul her from the water around her arms, stringing them behind her back. “Oh!” Wendy cried in dismay as she looped the rope around her, binding her arms tight. She tried to tug away, but the second woman swung up her knees together, binding them together with rope until she was caught and immobilised. “Don’t - what are you - let me go!”

But neither of them paid any heed to Wendy’s struggles as they began to shimmy up the rope, Wendy dangling beneath them like an inelegant fly caught in a spider’s web. She caught a glimpse of the faraway ocean beneath her and at once stopped struggling, struck mute with fear as they climbed higher and higher. Her heart was pounding in her ears but even above that she could hear the waves lapping at the sides of the ship. She remembered the last time she had been aboard the Jolly Roger, and how she had been tossed overboard.

 _It’s silly to fear that,_ the rational part of her mind told her. _Last time you simply went back home._

No matter how clear and logical that seemed, part of Wendy couldn’t help but think of how this time it might not be the same, that this time she might indeed drown in the crystalline waters of the lagoon, drowned  by mermaids or eaten by the crocodile.

At last, the women clambered over the deck, hoisting Wendy up over the railing and dropping her to the deck with a heavy _thunk_ that knocked the breath from her lungs. Then there was a clamour of voices, hot strong hands at her waist and knees, the mean silver flash of a knife - Wendy cringed away in fear - and then her wrists were free, her legs were free, and Wendy clung to the railing as she tried to haul herself upright, only to meet the cold blue eyes of Captain Jane Hook.

The deck was hard and pockmarked beneath Wendy’s feet, her ankles and knees threatening to give out as she stood before the notorious Captain Hook. She had told stories of this person to her brothers, this fearsome woman pirate with her crew of equally terrifying women. They were all suntanned and muscled and lean, not a hint of softness on any of them.

Hook herself stood proud and tall, Wendy barely coming up to her chest, and her lavish red coat and tight, dandy breeches and stockings making her seem grander and larger and so much _more_ than Wendy could ever hope to be. Beneath the coat Wendy could see the Captain’s soft white shirt and unstarched silken cravat. Wendy stared at the gleaming hook, wickedly sharp and polished to a bright shine in the high noon sun.

Wendy was suddenly very aware of her thin cotton nightgown and her long, honey blonde hair, hanging loose and wet to her waist. In the silence, the _pat pat pat_ of water dripping steadily onto the deck was horribly loud.

This was a woman who had fought Peter Pan, who had lost her hand, the appendage fed to the crocodile of the lagoon. Wendy would have almost expected a cowed woman, made humble by her defeat. And yet still she seemed so confident, powerful, perhaps even made more frightening _because_ of the grisly loss of her hand.

Captain Hook’s face broke into a slow, languid grin. She stepped forward, and that terrible hook came up to press beneath Wendy’s chin. Wendy was suddenly very, very aware of the blood pumping beneath the delicate skin. Her eyes flickered to Smee, the Captain’s ever-present shadow, the larger woman prowling away from Captain Hook in order to circle behind Wendy silently.

“Wendy Moira Angela Darling,” the older woman purred, the terrifying sharp point of that hook caught just beneath the angle of Wendy’s chin. “Peter Pan’s little nursemaid. Come back, Wendy, have you?”

A shiver wracked Wendy’s body even though the perpetual summer swelter of Neverland left no room for a chill. She couldn’t turn her head away, pinned by that cruel hook, forced to look the older woman straight on, into her sharp, cold blue eyes. They were forget-me-not blue, set in the stark, clean lines of her pale face. Wendy thought, for a moment, of Jonathan Thimbledon and his blue eyes and how watery they had seemed, of his short cropped black curls and how thin they were, his wide, wet mouth kissing the back of her hand with a smack of his lips when she had accepted his marriage proposal.

Jonathan Thimbledon had been a handsome boy, she knew, all the daughters of her mother’s friends had tittered and fawned over his looks. But Wendy had never felt anything but cool indifference towards him. Looking now, she could see how those features could send a thrill through someone’s chest, but only if they carried it with a cup - or even with a teaspoon - of the confidence that Captain Jane Hook did.

As Captain Hook came ever so slightly closer, an easy swagger in her step borne from years aboard her ship, Wendy had the brief, ridiculous thought that she wondered what it would be like if the Captain took her hand and swept her close, pressed her smaller body close against hers. Wendy wondered if that red silk coat would be as soft to the touch as it looked.

No such thing happened, of course, and Wendy shivered as the hook left the curve of her jaw, the Captain stepping back and tilting her head. “Did you find that you didn’t want to grow up anymore?”

Wendy’s voice did not seem to be cooperating. She cleared her throat, and tried to sound brave. “No,” she said. It sounded weak and trembling, echoing around the silent deck.

“Peter Pan’s boyish charms hold no more sway?” Hook mocked, grinning wide like a skull.

Something trembled inside Wendy, something dark and slick and frightening, like an eel coiled about in her guts as she looked up at the other woman. “I... I thought I wanted to never grow up. But Peter... Peter is no better than the grown-ups.” Her voice began strong, wavering, but turned into a whisper.

“Well then, Wendy my Darling. I gave you my word, did I not, so many years ago? And you will come to find that I am a woman of my word.”

Wendy’s hands were twisted in her sopping wet nightgown as she looked up at the older woman, shifting back slightly as the Captain took a step back into her space, her chest flush with Wendy’s. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“I promised you all those years ago that when you were older I would have a place for you.” Captain Hook tipped her head to one side and smirked. “And we shall put your hard-learned talents from London to good use here.”

Wendy’s eyes flickered to the rest of the crew, the women’s eyes all greedy and dark and fixed on her. She recognized these women, unlike the milk-soft round faces of the Lost Boys. The bosun, Smee, was familiar, a dark hulking bear of a woman, ever present and loyal to the end, but she could see faces and features and clothing that were familiar in the way that people in dreams were familiar.

She swallowed, and her eyes darted back to meet Captain Hook’s steady gaze. She was reminded of nothing more than the new aquarium exhibit at the Regent’s Zoo her governess had taken her to see the previous spring: a little fish, captured behind glass, perfectly still and the subject of the intense scrutiny of a dozen hungry predators.

Hook laughed at the sight of Wendy’s pale face, striding forward to push the curve of her hook gently beneath Wendy’s chin once more, forcing her to meet her gaze. “How now, my love! Why is your cheek so pale? How chance the roses there do fade so fast?” she said, and Wendy felt like she was being laughed at. She knew Hook was reciting something, but her mind whirled with nervous thoughts, like a school of fish disturbed by a shark.

“What sort of skills?” she asked, hands twisting together nervously in her nightdress. There was a puddle of salty water forming beneath her on the deck.

At once, she knew this had not been the right question to ask. Captain Hook’s smile widened, her teeth gleaming in the sunlight. Behind her, she heard the sailors shifting, murmuring low to one another beneath their breaths.

“You see, Wendy, Darling,” The address of her name rolled cleanly off the older woman’s tongue as Captain Hook’s heels clicked upon the deck and Wendy tried to step away a little, intimidated by this towering, carefully wrought figure before her. Hook reminded her of some great beast. A panther or a shark, something with far too many teeth and the predatory patience to circle, to hunt, to wait out her prey.

“All of my sailors are quite rough women. Cruel women to be sure. They didn’t have the same...” blue eyes, blue like the delicate china patterns upon Mrs. Darling’s fine tea set, flickered over Wendy’s nightgown. The blue of it matched the Captain’s greedy eyes. “...opportunities. My women would very much like to experience such fine education as yours.” A ripple of sly chuckles and dark murmurs circled around Wendy, pressing and squeezing at her ribcage to heighten her fear.

“So, Wendy, Darling,” again that space, that sweet implication of affection rather than simply her name, rolling off red painted lips. “Why don’t you be a good girl and share your good manners with my crew?”

They wanted _education_? Wendy was startled at first, but then she remembered the Lost Boys. All they’d wanted were stories and fairy tales. Suddenly, it did not seem so far-fetched that these rough, unpolished women would want a little of that varnish bestowed upon her by years of governesses and tutors and afternoon tea parties and her father’s money. But still. The way they stared at her, with hunger in their eyes, made her distinctly uncomfortable.

 _I just want to be free of men_ , Wendy reminded herself, and she took a deep breath and raised her chin. “Alright,” she said, trying to hide the tremor in her voice, “I’ll help you.”

“Good.”

With that single word, strong, work-roughened hands grabbed at Wendy’s waist, pulling her off her feet. Wendy didn’t have time to do more than gasp as Smee lifted her easily into her arms, her front hard and unyielding at Wendy’s back. With low laughter that rumbled through her, she pulled up Wendy’s nightgown, showing off her  soft, slender legs, the smooth lines of her pale flesh contrasted against Smee’s thick, dark arms and stomach exposed by her patched clothes. Wendy wore no underthings; she shrieked in surprise, kicking her legs and trying to twist out of the bosun’s grip.

“Are all sweet finishing school girls so very loud?” the woman rumbled with a grin and Captain Hook smirked. Wendy’s head turned frantically as she bit her lip, at once shutting up. “Bet I could make you louder.”

Wendy’s mouth opened around a scream, only for her breath and voice to catch when a rough thumb rubbed between her thighs, between the lips of her genitals, feeling the hot, swollen nub of flesh there.

“Such a pretty pink pearl,” Smee purred and Wendy squirmed anew when those fingers continued, insistent, rougher, sending shocks of something sharp and hot and wet through Wendy’s stomach. She could swear that the gash of sensation had left a searing line across her belly, as if the pleasure - yes, it was pleasure, something burning and hot and unwanted - was going to burn right through her skin to brand itself upon her bones.

“N-no,” Wendy whimpered, her thighs shaking as she felt rough fingers press even more insistently against her. She was trying in vain to tug her knees together, but Smee was carelessly, casually strong in a way that Wendy, with her life of narrow silk dresses and delicate bone china tea parties, could not possibly hope to match.

“Let the other ladies get a nice look, sweet girl,” Captain Hook ordered. “Bring me a chair,” she ordered casually over her shoulder, and at once there was a great shuffle through the crew and another woman brought forth a sumptuous stuffed velvet chair for her Captain.

Captain Hook smirked, lounging upon her pirate’s throne, her coat opened, the cotton of her cravat undone, the ties of her shirt loosened. She looked more relaxed now, here, watching Wendy. The girl could almost imagine the Captain in her father’s parlour, all polished wood and dark fabrics, a fire crackling. Fingers cupped around a snifter of brandy, a cigar between her lips. She imagined the thin red slash of the woman’s mouth parted, a perfect “O” blowing smoke rings into the air as Wendy had caught many younger men attempting with stolen cigarettes and cigars.

“I think I want your pretty nightdress off,” the Captain mused, and with a beckon of her long fingers Smee brought Wendy forward. Hook traced her fingers across the delicate cotton. Wendy had been so proud of the careful embroidery at the cuffs, the neck, up the hems: trailing green vines and purple flowers that exploded at her elbows, her knees, around her throat.

The Captain reached forward with her hook, pressing its sharp tip to one of the flowers, leaning forward to examine it. “What lovely needlework,” she remarked, and despite herself Wendy flushed with pride. “Moonflowers? Ah, no, morning glories. Appropriate,” Hook said, trailing her hook to follow the embroidered vine up the dress to her throat. “They bloom so shortly, so beautifully. The most ephemeral beauty. And its petals are so fragile - hold one too tight between your fingers and you’ll kill the poor plant.”

The hook reached her collar, and the Captain delicately tucked the tip of it beneath the fabric. Wendy whimpered in fear, cringing away from its dagger point.

“I want it gone.”

And with a sudden movement that made Wendy cry out in fear, Hook ripped the fabric cleanly from neck to hip, its ragged edge fluttering in the breeze. She was exposed from the base of her throat to midway down her thighs, still cold and wet from the sea, Hook’s hungry blue eyes drinking her in.

“Look at that.” Hook murmured, lifting her one hand up to Wendy’s breast. She cupped the tender flesh and rubbed her thumb over the girl’s peaked nipple, causing Wendy to shiver and try to arch away from the woman. “Perfectly sized for me.” A sharp squeeze and laughter from the crew made Wendy blush brightly and glare at the Captain.

“I-I thought you wanted to learn _manners,_ ” Wendy stammered, indignant, trying to cover up her fear. “Captain Hook, this is not - you can’t -”

“Oh, manners, indeed,” Captain Hook nodded in agreement, leaning in slightly. “Show the crew how to thank me, Wendy, Darling.”

Wendy flushed, biting her lip for a moment. _Thank_ her? Her mind spun uselessly for a minute, but reflex borne from years of her governesses rapping at her knuckles with a wooden ruler took over. She whispered, “Thank you, Captain Hook.”

The grin that spread across the woman’s face made Wendy’s heart stop. She knew that it was the other woman mocking her, but she couldn’t help but feel a tingle of pleasure in her stomach at the sight of Jane Hook’s neat, white teeth bared in a grin, her eyes crinkling at the corners in delight, her red painted lips soft and smooth and -

Wendy gasped as Hook leaned forward, those lips she had been admiring wrapping around her nipple, her spine arching into the touch even as she tried to squirm out of the bosun’s grip.

“Mmm...” A hard suck and a flick of the Captain’s tongue made Wendy keen with uncontained pleasure, her body trembling and positively aching for more even as her mind vehemently refused to admit it. After a long moment the older woman pulled back, scraping her teeth over the tender bud of Wendy’s nipple. “Thank me again.”

“N-no,” Wendy gasped, and a sharp, dangerous look flashed through Captain Hook’s blue eyes.

She gasped when Hook’s fingers tugged sharply on her other nipple, pulling hard until Wendy sobbed at the pressure, at the pain of the woman’s nails sunken into the sensitive flesh of her nipple.

“Thank me,” the woman growled, leaning in to look Wendy in the eye.

Wendy shook her head, gasping when the other woman pulled her nipple tighter still. She froze when she felt cold metal against her other nipple, her eyes wide as she stared at the Captain. With each breath and tremble, she could feel the sharp tip of the woman’s hook against the tender bud of her nipple, the threat that gleamed in the woman’s eyes a very real one.

“Thank me or I might just pierce your pretty tit right here.”

“Thank you, Captain Hook!” Wendy yelped out, trying to writhe away from the gleaming silver hook, only for the woman to press harder with the sharp tip. “Thank you, Captain Hook!”

“You’re welcome, Wendy, Darling.” Captain Hook smirked and leaned back, raising a brow. “I think I'd quite like to see more of you now.” She took a handful of what was left of Wendy’s nightdress and tugged; with the sound of rending fabric it tore completely, the front split open like a robe.

Wendy squirmed as the Smee lifted her leg obscenely high, the toes of her other foot barely brushing the deck as her lifted knee was hooked over the woman’s strong elbow. Smee held her easily, seemingly unaffected as Wendy wriggled in her grip. Captain Hook was watching her, her eyes fixated on the spectacle of Wendy trying to worm free, soft pink and dripping wet in between her pale legs. She yelped in surprise when the Captain’s fingers slid between her slick labia, curling against the girl’s virgin entrance, pressing, pressing, curling, seeking to press deep within Wendy until the girl let out a ragged sob.

“Please, please, stop, it’s too - you’ll break it, don't, _please_ ,” Wendy whimpered, her legs trembling with the useless effort to break free from the Smee’s grip.

The crew laughed at her words and Hook grinned, leaning in to lick at Wendy’s stomach, her thighs.

“I’ll break you, will I?” She pulled back, her fingers dripping with shining slick, and Wendy whimpered as she stared at the clear fluid, surprised at the lack of blood. Girls were supposed to bleed their first time. “Then I ought to do it properly, should I not?”

One of the sailors called out to another and Wendy whimpered, staring as the pirates passed Smee long coils of thin rope, thinner than the rope at the rigging of the ship.

“Table,” Hook called out, and the table that had held the map and an inkwell and navigation tools was cleared off and brought forward by a trio of pirates before the Captain’s velvet chair. Smee set Wendy down and flipped her easily onto her back, one hand holding both ankles together and the other pinning her wrists by her head. The sunlight glinted off the woman’s round spectacles, casting sharp blazes of light into Wendy’s eyes as the bosun worked above her. With Smee’s barked command, more sailors came forward to loop rope around her ankles, neat and rapid knots, and drawing her ankles against the backs of her thighs, knees bent. The knots were heavy and pressed uncomfortably; Wendy couldn’t do much more than wiggle her toes like this.  

“Get her wrists,” Captain Hook ordered, settling herself comfortably in her chair in between Wendy’s legs. Sitting like this, a little smirk playing on her lips, she looked like she was sitting down for a particularly delicious meal that she’d been especially looking forward to.

“Up or down, Captain?” Smee asked. She was large enough that both of Wendy’s wrists fit comfortably inside one palm, holding another loop of rope in the other.

“Hmmm... Up.”

Wendy's back arched off the table as her wrists were tied at the corners of the table to either side of her head, her head lolling over the edge as she panted with fear.

“Look at how pretty and pink she is, Captain,” the bosun murmured as she leaned in to suck on Wendy’s nipple, swirling her tongue over the bud of flesh before she pulled back, making Wendy whine at the torment. “Here too. Never did you see such a pretty little cunt, eh?” Wendy gasped and squirmed as she felt fingers pushing between her lower lips, spreading her solely for the pleasure of the Captain and crew looking upon her.

She mewled helplessly as she felt the Captain’s heavy hook rubbing over her thigh, stroking a line along the tender flesh. “Leave it to Peter Pan, the eternal child playing games, to find a perfectly ripe little peach and not know what to do with it.”

Wendy squirmed as the woman’s hook slipped between the ropes, jerking her leg further open. “Tighter on those ropes,” she ordered and Smee obeyed, Wendy trying to wiggle away from the two women as she was splayed even wider.

“How’s this?” The bosun gave Wendy’s inner thigh a hard slap and Wendy’s breathe exploded from her lungs in squeal, her legs twitching, barely able to even do that with the tightness of the rope.

“Perfect,” Hook murmured, her fingers stroking over Wendy’s bare belly. Long, elegant fingers curved between Wendy’s legs where she was soft and pink and sweet, the Captain feeling the way she was trembling. Wendy could tell that the woman delighted in the way she whimpered and squirmed, two of her fingers parting her lower lips to see where Wendy clenched tightly. When Hook pulled away a line of slick connected her fingers to between Wendy’s legs, Wendy whimpering as she strained to see what Hook was going to do next. The terrible curve of her hook trailed down her thigh, and Hook sank her index finger agonizingly slowly into the tight press of Wendy’s body.

It ached, it was a deep low aching stretch, painful and yearning and at once Wendy wanted more, more, _more_ than just one finger.

“S-stop,” Wendy sobbed, but her voice was weak as Captain Hook’s single finger pressed against something tender and eager inside her, building up more of that horrible, dark pressure in her stomach.

“Never let a boy do a woman’s job, Wendy, Darling.” Hook shifted and her hips were framed by Wendy’s spread, tied thighs, sinking her finger deeper into Wendy, curling it slowly.

Wendy whimpered, turning her head away, cheek pressed to the hard, scratched wood of the table. Shame was spreading through her, twisting up inside her in a knot in her throat and mingling with the slow, steady, even glide of Captain Hook’s index finger inside her tightness. Hot, dizzying pleasure was rising through her, spiralling around that place where Hook had her gentle finger. It felt so good - it felt _so good_. Wendy had never known anything to feel this good. She whimpered, toes curling and hips bucking up against the Captain’s hand as much as she could.

“Aaah -” Wendy whimpered as Hook withdrew, hips trying to follow, desperate. Hook smirked, and she leaned forward, planting an incongruously gentle kiss against the soft skin of Wendy's breast, swirling her fingers through the dripping slick mess between Wendy’s thighs.

“Liked that, did you?” Hook murmured, although Wendy felt the movement of her lips against Wendy’s feverish skin rather than heard her voice. Wendy arched her back, pressing back against the table, eager and desperate for more of those lovely fingers inside her that had made her feel so good.

“Yes,” Wendy said, high and voice shaking, desperate for something she wasn’t sure of. “Oh - oh please, oh please, that felt so good, oh _please_ -”

One finger, like before, and then two, and Wendy whined, her previous embarrassment quite forgotten. Eyes closed, gasping as the Captain leaned over her, a curtain of oiled curls shielding her from the eyes of the crew, Wendy could think of nothing but the honey sweet pleasure that was unfurling through her limbs, the sweet heat coiling tight inside her. Those two fingers felt even better than the single one had, pressing and rubbing with gentle, deliberate patience.

“Thank me,” Hook whispered against Wendy’s mouth, the sharp point of her nose brushing against Wendy’s as the woman stared down at her.

“Thank you, Captain Hook,” Wendy moaned, and her tormentor's blue eyes glinted with delight and hunger and _want_.

She twisted her hand and Wendy cried out with pleasure, almost a sob, when Hook’s thumb pressed against _something_ at the top of her slit, something that made the low hot sweet pressure bolt sharp like a static shot, sensitive and almost too much. Wendy could hear how wet her body was as Hook kept rubbing, teasing, pressing at her, thrusting her fingers with obscene wet noises filling the air.

“That’s it, sweet girl,” the Captain murmured in her ear, and Wendy shivered as those dark curls pooled around the table, mingling with her own honey golden hair. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Do my lovely fingers feel good inside that pretty little pussy of yours? Enjoy it, Wendy, Darling. Enjoy me fucking your cunt like this,” Hook panted against Wendy’s mouth before catching her lips and stealing a long, slow kiss.

Wendy remembered for a moment how she had once wanted Peter to have her first kiss. She wondered if she would have enjoyed that kiss more than this one, with Hook’s lips capturing hers, the taste of whiskey and tobacco on her tongue as her mouth fell open beneath the hard press of the Captain’s before the woman pulled back roughly.

Hook sat back in her velvet chair, Wendy laid out on the table like a feast before her. Her hand never stopped, still rubbing and pressing inside of her, inside that tender spot inside her that made her breath catch inside her chest; Hook leaned in to breathe against Wendy’s thigh. The girl shivered, realising that Hook could see everything between her legs, her most intimate of places, Wendy helpless to stop her in any way.

“I want to see you come, Wendy,” Hook growled against her thigh, teeth pressed to skin. “I want to see you come like this. You sound so sweet, darling. Making such pretty noises for me. You’re loving this, Wendy, you’re so wet and pretty and swollen for me. Loving being fucked on my fingers, aren’t you?”

It didn’t take much with those words. Two fingers deep inside her, where none had dared venture before, a thumb rubbing at that delicate pearl of flesh that sent white lightning streaks of pleasure through her limbs, and the firm press of Captain Hook’s red-painted lips to Wendy’s thigh and Wendy felt like the pressure in her belly was spreading through her limbs, white-hot and aching. She was hardly aware of the wail torn from her chest; she could feel pressure low in her belly, building and building, in between her hips, burning hot and wanton and desperate, and the more she tried to hold it in the more it brimmed and built until Wendy felt it running over, and over and-

“That’s it... That’s it, darling girl...”

Wendy couldn’t help the scream that tore from her as the pleasure overflowed and burst and _exploded_ , loud and brilliant inside her body like sensory fireworks. Hook’s fingers stilled inside her, her thumb still rubbing hard against her clit, and Wendy sobbed as wetness gushed from in between her thighs, rolling thick and heavy along the Captain’s wrist and staining the sleeve of her coat and dripping down her thigh, her knee, her calf, wetly onto the deck below. Hook grinned, and when Wendy’s eyes fluttered open, eyelashes wet, she leaned forward and bit down _hard_ at Wendy’s inner thigh.

Wendy yelped, but tied to the table and with Hook still inside her, she had nowhere to go. She sobbed as she felt Hook close her mouth around the bite and suck, hard, holding it for a moment that stretched out before releasing with a loud, filthy _pop_.

“There,” she said with satisfaction. “Mine, now.”

She leaned back and pulled away, her fingers tugged free from Wendy’s unwilling body with a wet, messy noise. Wendy could feel where Captain Hook’s fingers had been, where she was now aching and open and vulnerable, as if any one of the crew could simply reach in and find where Wendy had been hollowed out. The bite mark at her inner thigh throbbed in time to her heart. She did not dare look, afraid that the Captain might have bitten through her skin.

Hook pulled back slowly, groaning in pleasure at the sight of Wendy all spread out and pink and trembling before her; and then her palm came down, sharp and brutal against her open, slick flesh. Wendy screamed, brought abruptly back into herself as the shock of pain arced through her. In vain, her thighs jerked; but she was trapped, pinned in place by the rope.

Again, _crack!_ the Captain’s palm came down hard against her pussy, and Wendy cried out, wriggling and sobbing and utterly confused. It had felt so good before - Hook had made her feel things she’d never even dreamt were possible, why was she - Again, her hand came down, just as hard as before, and this time the hit was angled so that it sent ricochets of burning sensation through her clit and up into her belly. The noise dragged from Wendy’s throat was a low moan rather than a scream.

The Captain paused, hand raised, and slowly a grin spread across her face. “Filthy girl,” she purred in delight, “you’re _liking_ this, aren’t you?”

Wendy couldn’t reply, her face flaming. A surprised murmur went around the crew, and she had an impression of the women shifting eagerly, pressing forward, craning their necks over one another to get a better look.

The look on Hook’s face was one of unbridled glee as she raised her hand again, again, again, each time her palm angled just _so,_ to catch her clit with the heel of her hand. Wendy couldn’t help her hips stuttering up, the tears leaking from her eyes and onto the scuffed and marked surface of the table, trying to worm away from the awful stinging that was building up beneath her skin. With every strike, there was a moment of rushing cold air and then _crack_ , hot impact, her clit aching and throbbing and the sensation shooting right up to her throat. It felt swollen and hypersensitive, and by the time Hook was grunting with effort to smack harder and harder each time, Wendy was sobbing aloud, legs twitching as she tried each time to pull them shut but to no avail.

“Oh, please - please,” she wailed, sobbing almost too hard to speak. “Please stop, please, it hurts, it hurts, please-”

Hook paused at the top of her next upswing, looking down at Wendy with bright eyes. “Good,” she said, satisfied. “I _want_ it to hurt, darling. The pains of love, after all, are far sweeter than all other pleasures, isn’t that right?”

Wendy’s breath caught in her throat in a choked wail as Hook’s hand came down again, rush of cold air and then the impact exploding under her skin. Her clit was throbbing in time to her heart, the bite at her inner thigh burned uncomfortably every time she tried to twist away.

“You lied!” Wendy sobbed. “You said - you said I-I-I would have a place h-here!”

“You’re in your place, darling girl.” Hook purred, leaning down to groan and nuzzle against Wendy’s over-sensitive pussy, sucking at the tender skin until a choked moan escaped her. “Right here, where you belong.”

Hook settled back into her chair and her hand came up, a look of smug satisfaction on her sharp face. Wendy sobbed. “No - no, please!” she cried, “Please, no more, it hurts, please stop -”

The Captain paused. Slowly, her hand lowered until she was palm-down over Wendy’s pussy, gentle, rubbing softly at her tender skin. “You beg so sweetly. Such a good girl, begging so nicely for me,” Hook purred. Wendy whimpered in fright, but Hook’s fingers were so soft and soothing against her skin that she couldn’t help but relax beneath her touch. “But I know you can do better than that, Wendy, darling. Beg me like you really _mean_ it, and then maybe you’ll convince me to stop.”

“Please,” Wendy babbled, desperate to avoid more hits at her tender cunt. She ached horribly; her skin felt swollen and tight across her labia, her clit pulsing and sending lightning bolt shocks up her body, down her limbs. She was uncomfortably wet, the slick dripping down her thighs, puddling beneath her ass. “Please,” Wendy repeated, “please, please don’t, I can’t - it hurts too much, please, anything else - please, just not - please don’t smack me again, it hurts, it hurts…”

Hook cooed gently, fingers rubbing softly at Wendy’s pussy, toying softly with her labia. “Anything I’d like, pet? Anything at all, just as long as I don’t smack that pretty pink cunt of yours again?”

Wendy squirmed, blushing at the obscene word, but she nodded. “Just no more, please, no more, please.”

Hook leaned forward and kissed her lower belly, press of her painted lips against Wendy’s skin. “Oh, darling girl,” she murmured, “you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

She stood abruptly, trailing her nails across Wendy’s pussy. “Fetch me the box on my desk, the one with the silver clasps,” she barked, and one of the crew-women jumped to attention, running off towards the Captain’s quarters. She returned shortly, carrying a large box in both arms. With a wave of her hook, the Captain directed her to place it by her feet. She bent to open it, drawing a silver key from around her neck.

Wendy raised her head, trying to catch a glimpse at what the Captain might be doing, but she couldn’t see anything beyond her plumed tricorn hat, the black oiled curls of her hair swinging forward. As she sorted through the contents of the box, little murmurs ran through the assembled crew as she paused here and there, evidently lingering over one item or another in the box.

Wendy supposed it might be too much to wish for a pair of scissors to cut her free, and the same sort of simple plain shirt and breeches the rest of the sailors seemed to be wearing, and to have her hand shaken in congratulations and told to get to work scrubbing the deck.

“Ah, here,” said Hook, in a tone indicating great satisfaction, and she straightened up. Wendy craned her neck, trying to see. “What’s that?” she asked, tremulous, afraid.

Captain Hook grinned, her teeth gleaming. “What, _this_ old thing?” she said, raising what looked like a cylinder made of smooth polished stone onto the table. It wasn’t very thick, but longer than her forearm, and it was made of the green stone that Wendy recognised as jade, like her mother’s finest brooch. It glittered brilliantly in the sun. She cringed away, fearing that Hook would raise the rod and begin beating her with it like a schoolmistress might cane an unruly child. “A lovely little toy I picked up in Siam a number of years ago. Pretty, is it not?”

Wendy nodded, hesitantly.

“I’m glad you like it. Here, won’t you take a closer look?” Hook leaned over her, dangling the stone rod in front of her face. Wendy eyed it apprehensively. It _was_ lovely, there was no denying that; the jade seemed to shine with a certain inner light, brilliant green in hue that ranged from the pale green of a snake’s belly to the deep, rich green of a forest fern. But the way Hook’s blue eyes gleamed made her wary.

“It’s lovely,” she offered timidly.

“Mmm, I know. Something so lovely should be treasured, shouldn’t it, Wendy? Us pirates _cherish_ our treasures. Protect them, keep them out of harm’s way.” Hook seemed to be almost speaking to herself now, voice low and almost pensive. Wendy swallowed, uncertain whether she was expected to reply.

Hook trailed the tip of the jade rod down one cheek, and then the other. She trailed the end of it over Wendy’s lips. “Kiss it, Wendy,” she said abruptly, torn from her musings. “Open your mouth.”

“I - I - beg your pardon?” Wendy stammered, certain she’d misheard.

“I know you heard me, don’t play coy,” said Hook. There was a gleam in her eye. “I told you to kiss it.”

Wendy raised her head a little off the flat surface of the table, and pressed her lips to the end of the toy, as if she were kissing a friend’s cheek, soft and fast. She pulled away.

Hook clicked her tongue. “I said _kiss_ it, girl, not peck at it like a hen,” she said, and there was a ripple of laughter that bounced around the assembled crew.

Wendy flushed, but pressed her lips to the toy again, a little longer this time.

Hook hummed. “Better, somewhat,” she allowed, and Wendy breathed a sigh of relief. “If _that’s_ how all pretty well-bred society girls behave, there’s no wonder London whores are so well paid.”

Searing embarrassment burned through her, and curiously, shame. “I’m not - I’m not a, a, a,” Wendy tried, Hook watching her with the patience of a crocodile watching an antelope at the banks. Wendy closed her mouth, face burning, unable to continue her sentence.

“A, a, a,” Hook mocked her. “A _what_ , Wendy? A _whore_ ? A _slut_? Is that what you want to say?”

Wendy nodded, mute.

“Use your pretty words, then, go on. Tell me you’re not a whore.”

The shame rushed through her, tears prickling at the corner of her eyes. A sob rose up in her throat and choked her words. “I’m - I’m not, I’m not, I’m, I’m -” She couldn’t speak, overcome.

Hook sighed, caressing her thigh with the sharp point of the hook and tapping the tip of the jade rod against Wendy’s lower lip, like she was being faced with some enormous, exhausting trial. “Poor little girl,” she cooed, all soft and sweetly mocking. “Not able to deny what you really are, Wendy, is that it?”

The tears leaked from her eyes, trickling down her temples and into her hair. She tried to shake her head, tried to move the rod away from her mouth, but Hook followed her movement easily.

“Open your mouth, Wendy Darling,” Hook said, almost coaxingly, were it not for the threat of that mean hook at her thigh. “Open your mouth and let me show you how you need to kiss a pretty toy like this.”

Wendy stared at her, half in horror, half in wary apprehension. What was Hook going to do? She shook her head again, lips clamped shut.

The Captain’s hook pressed harder against the tender flesh of her inner thigh. The point of it was razor-sharp, and Wendy cringed as she felt it break skin. “I told you to open your mouth, Wendy.”

Again, Wendy kept her teeth clamped resolutely together, staring into Hook’s face. Her eyebrows pulled together, her mouth a hard line. Wendy whimpered, uneasy and frightened, away from that look of cool displeasure on the Captain’s face. Her hook raised up from Wendy’s thigh and she turned her forearm so that it hovered threateningly over her face. A low, restless murmur ran through the crew women.

When, still, Wendy didn’t obey, Hook made an irritated little _tch_ noise and brought her forearm down, over Wendy’s nose.

Wendy tried desperately to gasp in a breath only to find she couldn’t. She couldn’t breathe - her nose was blocked by that red brocade and the weight of Captain Hook’s arm. Like the rest of her women, Captain Hook was powerfully built, with a predator’s form - vicious grace and utilitarian muscle, a body built hard and mean from years of sailing and sword fighting. She didn’t appear to have her full strength behind that forearm against Wendy’s face - if she had, Wendy was sure she’d have a broken nose at the very least.

“I _was_ going to be nice to you,” Hook taunted, as Wendy tried vainly to toss her head and buck her off. “You’ve been such a good girl up to now. Frightened, of course, but still good and sweet and docile. And now you’ve been so disobedient, Wendy. Disobeying a direct order from your captain - do you know what kind of punishment that merits?”

The Captain raised her eyes to look Smee, behind Wendy’s head. “Bring me the tails,” she barked, and there was dead silence for the barest moment before someone replied tremulously, “Yes, Captain,” and the sound of running footsteps. Wendy was still struggling beneath the Captain’s grip, but a little more subdued now, the fear and the lack of air making her weak.

Hook reached out with her free hand, and when it  returned into Wendy’s sight her vision almost greyed out. She was holding the ugliest, meanest, cruellest looking whip Wendy had ever seen. From a wooden handle wrapped in leather strips sprouted nine thick ropes, each one as thick as her wrist. They were long, looping around the Captain’s forearm twice and even so trailing down to the deck; from the corner of her eye Wendy could see shard of glass twined into the rope, stained dark with old blood.

Captain Hook leaned back, letting Wendy breathe through her nose again, so she could see exactly what she was being threatened with.

There was a moment of dead silence from crew and Captain and captive alike before the woman looming over Wendy leaned in, forcing Wendy’s gentle blue eyes to meet the other woman’s own sharper blue.

“ _Open. Your. Mouth_.” Hook repeated herself with a calm sort of finality that threatened to break over her like a thunderstorm if she didn’t comply.

Wendy’s mouth fell open and she barely had time to breathe in when Hook thrust the jade rod past her lips. The smooth stone brushed against her tongue and the back of her mouth, making Wendy’s chest heave as she gagged slightly at the unexpected press. The toy was pulled back and Hook purred at the panting breaths that Wendy pulled in, the girl’s flushed lips wet with saliva.

“Wider,” Hook ordered, leaning forward. The cat-o-nine-tails was hooked onto her belt, and Wendy could hear the tails thunking against the edge of the table, but she tried to push that thought out of her mind, focusing instead on the hard stone Hook was pushing  into her mouth. “Chin up, head back, Wendy, Darling,” The Captain ordered, and Wendy could do nothing but obey, tilting her head back to expose her throat more fully. “There we go.”

She pushed jade toy further into Wendy’s mouth, deeper, making her gag as it sank into her throat. Part of her fearfully worried that the Captain might make her swallow the whole thing, that it would be lodged in her throat forever, but just when tears began to spill from her eyes and her vision began to blur and waver at the edges, the jade implement was pulled from her throat, from her mouth, letting her gasp for breath.

“There we go, Darling.” Captain Hook grinned wide. “Get it nice and wet for me, Wendy,” She ordered, holding out the toy and pushing it past Wendy’s lips, forcing it past her teeth, down her throat again. “That’s it, nice and wet.”

Wendy gagged, her chest heaving as she tried to breathe, saliva welling up in her throat. The Captain pulled the jade rod back, letting Wendy drag in a single wet breath, before she shoved it back into her mouth, down her throat once more.

“That’s a pretty sight, Captain,” Smee purred and Hook laughed.

“A pretty sight indeed.”

Wendy could feel the woman’s thumb rubbing over the bulge in her throat where the toy was forced inside her, feeling the flex and struggle of Wendy’s throat muscles as she laid on the table, helpless to the other woman’s demanding motions. Her throat spasmed and Wendy couldn’t contain the strength of her coughing fit, the Captain pulling the toy free of her throat as the girl gasped and coughed and struggled to breathe.

“There we go, nice and wet.” Captain Hook pulled the jade rod away from Wendy’s face, the girl sighing with relief as she was able to relax upon the surface of the table, recovering her breath.

She did not remain relaxed for long, not when the warm stone pressed into her pussy, stretching her more than the Captain’s long fingers had been able to. She felt forced open, her most intimate place being tormented with the unyielding polished stone. This was different than the fingers, which curved and moved and flexed. The rod was firm and moulded Wendy’s body around it, the long, slow strokes of the toy rubbing over her inner walls, lighting nerves and making her body clench and shudder with each pass of the smooth surface. Glancing down, Wendy gasped at the sight of her stomach moving with each thrust of the thick rod.

“Look at how wet you are,” Captain Hook murmured, more to herself than anyone else, her hook hand moving to press flat upon Wendy’s lower abdomen, the girl gasping at the pressure of the woman’s forearm against the place where the jade rod was moving within her.

“Oh!” Wendy whimpered, her thighs shaking as the woman pressed more firmly down against where she had seen the toy moving beneath her skin, capturing something between the twin pressures that made Wendy’s entire vision white out with pleasure, her thighs shaking and her body clenching tightly.

“Come for me, Wendy, let me see how much you like me fucking your sweet little cunt fucked.”

Wendy could do nothing but obey the Captain.

Her eyes rolled back in her head and Wendy could do nothing but ride out the sensations of white hot pleasure bolting through her limbs, settling pulsing and liquid warm between her legs, making her shudder and clench and twitch around the heavy jade rod.

“So very _pink_.” Hook’s lips pressed against her clit, the very tip of her  tongue tracing the base of the jade toy where it was stretching her open, before slowly tugging it free of her pussy. Wendy whimpered and squirmed, the slick wetness leaking easily out of her cunt and puddling between her thighs onto the table below.

“Oh, your pretty little cunt didn’t _want_ to let it out, did it?” Hook murmured, tracing the tip of the toy back against her opening. “So tight, darling. Such a tight little pussy. I’m going to open you up, sweet girl. Going to make it so you’re begging me for more, just like you were with my fingers. Mmm…” she pressed the tip of the toy, dipping it just a little bit inside her, tugging back out, toying with her, working her open. Hook’s breath was hot against her.

“So very, _very_ pink.” She could feel Hook’s fingers pressing against where she had been opened up by the unyielding jade, and whimpered when the hook hand came up to trace delicately, threateningly, up along her thigh.

“Pink here too, isn’t she?” Wendy realised, with a burn of humiliation, that the Captain was speaking now to Smee, who was leaning in to grin and stare between the girl’s legs, adjusting her spectacles to get a better look.

“Very,” the bosun grinned, showing off her white teeth as she stepped forward and slipped a thumb into Wendy’s panting mouth, pressing down on her tongue. “A pretty tongue, too.”

“Perhaps we could make it prettier still, like yours, Smee?” Hook asked, and Wendy blinked in confusion until Smee smiled at her and stuck her tongue out like a little girl, capturing a smooth metal ball between her teeth. Wendy stared, horrified, at that pierced tongue; she had never even considered something like that might be possible. Smee laughed at her dumbstruck look, tongue back inside her mouth and the silver piercing gleaming in the sun.

“What do you think, Wendy, Darling?” Hook asked, tracing her lips over the girl’s thigh and sucking marks into the milky skin.

Wendy tried to shake her head, but Smee’s other hand settled on her cheek, fingers curving around her jaw to keep her face still. She rubbed her thumb slowly along Wendy’s tongue, close in time to the way that jade toy was sliding into her; she tasted salty, ashy, a cross between seawater and the oak used to build the Jolly Roger and tobacco smoke.

“What was that, girl?” The Captain asked her lowly. She was still easing the toy into her, and when it would go no further insider her she pressed her palm against it; Wendy squealed as it pressed against something deep inside, sending shooting ricochets of heavy pressure through her. Smee withdrew her thumb to tap against Wendy’s lips, allowing her to answer.

“It’s barbaric,” Wendy gasped, and Hook didn’t bother restraining her laughter. She leaned in close and Wendy couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the scent of the woman’s cologne (not perfume, it couldn’t be perfume, it was too dark, too masculine, too heavy on Wendy’s tongue) to do anything but turn and stare at the sharp lines of the Captain’s face.

Her breath caught when she saw the metal stud in the Captain’s tongue as well.

“Perhaps you simply need to learn the merits of such an addition.” Captain Hook pushed Wendy’s shoulders back onto the table, leaning forward so that Wendy’s legs were forced wide, one knee to either side of her shoulders. Wendy could feel every press and motion of the jade toy inside her and she couldn’t help but gasp at the feeling of hot breath on her pussy. “Pay close attention, Wendy, Darling.”

The first stroke of Hook’s pierced tongue was so unlike the rough fingers and the unyielding jade from before that she jumped, startled. Wendy’s legs tensed and she whined, her back arching, her hips squirming against the Captain’s mouth. Hook lapped at her messily, wetly; she made little noises, little groans and growls of pleasure at the taste of Wendy’s soft and sensitive cunt on her tongue.

So unlike the rest of Hook’s soft tongue, the piercing was a sharp little exclamation point of metal, swirling against the sensitive pearl of her clit. Wendy was trying her best to stay unaffected, but little whines and gasps kept bursting from her throat, her legs jumping and muscles of her belly twitching. She could feel a blush spreading down her front, her face flaming, her chest burning, even the skin of her throat feeling hot. Inside their binds, her hands curled into useless fists; trapped by those heavy knots of rope, her toes curled.

Hook sucked softly at Wendy’s lower lips, teasing with the flat of her tongue, rolling the metal in smooth, firm lines over Wendy’s lips, along the edge of her entrance, where the jade toy had opened her up so sweetly before. Wendy’s mouth fell open on a moan at the feeling of Hook’s teeth on her skin, of her soft tongue and the hard rolling press of the piercing on her soft flesh.

“Look at that, look at how she’s gagging for it.” The voices of the crew murmured around her and Wendy moaned, the heat of the sunburn on her face mingling with her embarrassed blush. “Enjoying the Captain’s mouth, are you?” Up behind her head, Smee laughed.  

Wendy couldn’t restrain the whine that pressed behind her teeth, threatening to spill out of her mouth. Her head lolled over the edge of the table as she panted and mumbled and whimpered, feeling the clever, silken tongue of Captain Hook teasing and suckling and biting gently at her tender flesh.

“I’ll certainly pierce your tongue, darling girl.” Hook pulled back and grinned, biting at Wendy’s thigh before delivering another sharp slap between Wendy’s legs, the wet sound of impact shocking Wendy almost as much as the stinging pain of the blow and how it mingled so deliciously with the still-lingering pleasure. “And here, yes, three lovely little studs on each side,” the woman purred softly, her fingers tracing on either side of Wendy’s wet cunt, her thumb and forefinger pinching along the tender flesh of her lips until Wendy whined at the tug.

“Where else...” the Captain hummed thoughtfully. Her fingers circled over the sensitive flesh of Wendy’s clit, teasing the soft hood of flesh carefully before she smirked at Wendy’s gasping breaths. “Yes, I think here as well.” Wendy couldn’t help but sigh in relief as she felt Captain Hook pulling back, the woman’s chair groaning for a moment as she shifted, and Wendy couldn’t help but freeze as she watched Hook looming over her, those forget-me-not blue eyes shifting to take in Wendy, looking over her slender frame before settling on the soft swells of her breasts. “And your pretty little tits,” she said decisively.

Wendy couldn’t help but feel like she was being assessed again, her mind travelling back to when she had been just a girl and found wanting. Now, however, she was older, and the Captain of the Jolly Roger seemed to be more intent on improving upon her herself.

“Earn your keep, Darling girl,” Hook growled softly against her lips, rubbing her thumb along Wendy’s tender, sensitive clit as she pulled back and settled upon her chair. “Use that pretty mouth of yours and we’ll see how worthwhile it is to keep you and not feed you to the crocodile.”

Wendy’s mouth fell open on a gasp and suddenly Smee’s hand was in her hair, heavy and twisting her head back. She drew Wendy tight and close, pressed uncomfortably against the table so she could straddle her face, the fabric of her breeches rough against Wendy’s face, smothering her. Wendy wriggled in the woman’s grip, trying to worm away, but the sharp press of the Captain’s hook against her inner thigh let her know she had no reprieve. The bosun laughed, rocking down hard against Wendy’s upturned face, and she couldn’t breathe, blocked by the press of fabric and flesh.

“Mmm, even her face is lovely to grind against, Captain,” Smee said, and the Captain purred an agreement.

From the crew, gathered, watching, waiting, someone called out, “When’ll a rest of us get a go, then?”

Hook laughed, and stars began to burst behind Wendy’s eyelids. Her chest heaved, gasping, and she tried to whimper but she was smothered, muffled. Her hands clenched and unclenched uselessly in their bonds; her lungs burned, her throat burned, her vision was greying out at the edges -

She sucked in a choked lungful of air as the bosun lifted, one heavy hand cupping her breast. “Sorry, girlie,” she said, thumb stroking back and forth over Wendy’s nipple. “Your face just feels so nice I wanted to stay a little longer.”

Tears pricked in the corner of Wendy’s eyes as Smee drew back, undoing the ties at her waist and kicking her breeches off. With a contented little sigh, the woman hiked one knee onto the table beside Wendy’s head onto the table, hips settled squarely over her upturned face, and rocked down.

As she settled herself, leaning forward to balance her hands at Wendy’s waist, Wendy took the opportunity to take a deep a breath as possible, afraid of being smothered again. Smee smelled like sweat and the sea and, overpoweringly, like _woman_ \- musky, the scent tickling her throat. Her pubic hair was neatly trimmed and to Wendy’s surprise, despite her coffee dark skin she was just as soft and as pink inside as Wendy herself.

“Lick, girl,” Smee ordered from above her. “Open your mouth and _lick,_  or else the Captain’s going to show you what she can do with that hook.”

Threateningly, the Captain pressed the cold sharp point against the cheek of Wendy’s ass. She whimpered, the tears in her eyes close to spilling over, but she opened her mouth anyway.

She scrunched up her nose - Smee tasted musky, bitter, but she didn’t dare close her mouth. It took a bit for her tongue to work, swirling and tracing delicately over the soft skin.

Hook’s hand slapped Wendy’s thigh, the girl jerking against the table as she gasped into the bosun’s folds, her tongue delving even more at the silky heat between the woman’s thighs. Smee groaned, her shaven head tilting back and her hips rocking roughly against the bridge of Wendy’s nose.

“Oh, that’s better.” The bosun tangled her fingers in Wendy’s long, mussed up curls. “Fuck, that’s good.” She moaned when Wendy whined and dragged her tongue as deep as she could into the woman, desperately trying to get her to _finish_ so that she would move to let Wendy breathe. “Oh... Oh fuck, oh shit, _yes_.”

Smee’s thighs clamped tight around Wendy’s head, and Wendy felt like she might drown in the blazing heat radiating from her body and the slick that dripped from her cunt. Her cheeks were soaked, her nose was covered in it, it dripped down her cheeks and into her hair and even so she kept licking, licking, straining her neck to arch up and press her mouth against Smee’s soft pussy.

The bosun made a soft, high little keening noise, her fingers squeezing tight at Wendy’s narrow waist  to steady herself as she ground over her face. Her thumbs pressed in hard at her skin, and Wendy whimpered as Smee rocked a little harder against her open mouth.

“Oh… oh, oh, oh, oh fuck, oh fuck, that’s it, that’s it…” and with a low little moan that made Wendy’s stomach flutter, the bosun came hard, her muscles and her pussy fluttering against Wendy’s mouth and a gush of slick rushing from inside her. Her nails dug into Wendy’s skin, and Wendy was sure she’d have a set of ten bruises around her waist tomorrow, a reminder of how she’d made this dark, terrifying woman come hard enough to lose her self-control.

Smee pulled back and Wendy gasped, nearly drowned in the gush of sweet, clear fluid that filled her mouth from the woman’s drooling cunt, powerful black thighs shaking on either side of Wendy’s head before the woman stepped away.

“Fast learner.” Smee’s broad palm slapped over Wendy’s cunt and she squealed in surprise, her slick spattering over the table beneath her. “A dirty little liar, too.”

“Oh yes.” Hook purred, rubbing her palm over Wendy’s thigh as the girl sobbed into the muggy summer air. “Only whores get wet at being so thoroughly used.” She leaned in to give a slow, gentle kiss to the Wendy’s thigh, tracing up to the curve of her pussy, sucking at her clit and then the gathered wetness between her lips. “Come on, ladies, practice makes perfect.”

Wendy turned her head. To her dread, the women of the crew thronged around her, close enough to reach out and touch her. All of them were completely unlike any woman Wendy had ever known - tanned from the bright sun, lean muscles from hard work, most of them uncaring of the scars and patched clothes. One woman had an eyepatch, like a character in a storybook; another was missing her leg below the knee, and the wooden leg thumped against the deck solidly.

They’d been enjoying watching her, it seemed. There was an air of a party, a festival, laughter ringing through the air. More than one couple had broken away from the main group and was pressed up against the railing, against one of the masts, up against the door to the Captain’s quarters. One pair - one woman with long honey brown hair that cascaded past her elbows, the other with short red hair, both of them grinding and whimpering helplessly against each other - were right there on the floor, almost right beside the table. As she watched, the red-headed woman bit down hard against the other’s neck; the long-haired pirate tipped her head back and moaned, wanton and obscene, and Wendy averted her eyes. The rest of the crew women parted politely around them, but otherwise paid them no mind.

As she watched, the woman with the green kerchief who had pulled her from the water tugged on the hand of a fair, slight woman; with a laugh, they began to kiss, hungry fingers and roaming hands, devouring one another with unrestrained hunger.

The woman standing behind Smee looked in askance to the Captain. Hook waved her hand carelessly and leaned back comfortably into her chair, like she was watching a show. “Go on,” she said lazily. “I want her well trained.”

The pirate said something Wendy didn’t catch but that made Hook laugh. She climbed up onto the table and turned around, her back to Hook, straddling Wendy’s head. She grasped Wendy’s curls and pulled her firmly up against her cunt, looking down with a delighted grin, eyes dropping shut and gasping low moans as she rode Wendy’s mouth hard and fast.

“Teeth, whore, use your teeth,” the woman barked, pulling back to give Wendy’s face a light slap before she ground back down. Wendy bit at her softly, suckling and worrying her folds between her teeth and lips, tracing her tongue over the tender flesh she sucked into her mouth.

One woman standing beside the table leaned forward, catching the pirate’s mouth in a kiss, fingers reaching into her shirt and making her whine into the kiss as she found her breast. Wendy whimpered a little; in between her legs, she was aching, throbbing. Her hips twitched up, rocking, seeking. This woman tasted lovely - almost bitter sweet, like licking the last faint drops of orange juice from her fingers.

“Fuck, yes,” the pirate groaned, grinding against Wendy roughly. She came with a little stuttered whimper against the other woman’s mouth; she was still wet, but not nearly as wet as the bosun had been and when she pulled back, satisfied, Wendy breathed a sigh of relief. She tried to shift her hips, feeling aching and curiously empty in between her legs. For a brief moment, she wished Captain Hook might use the jade wand on her again.

The next woman straddled Wendy, facing her pinned torso. “Come on, girl.”

“I can’t - I can’t-” Wendy gasped, struggling to catch her breath.

The woman above her ground downwards, forcing Wendy’s mouth against her cunt, and the girl whimpered as she felt fingers kneading her breasts, nails dragging over the tender flesh. She pinched at the over-sensitive peaks, letting out a little choked noise as the woman tugged, then released her nipples. She did it again, again, tugging hard on her nipples and releasing, her nails digging in; Wendy sobbed and writhed as she licked frantically, used her teeth, and tried to breathe through her nose as best as she could.

“Such a pretty little cunt,” the woman above her groaned, the pressure of her pussy against Wendy’s mouth increasing as she leaned in. Wendy jerked as she felt two fingers pushed inside her again, pressing and curling against the oversensitive walls of her pussy. The woman spent a few moments teasing and thrusting her fingers before a third digit pushed slowly into Wendy despite the resistance. “ _Tight_ little cunt.”

“Perhaps you should loosen her up, hmm?” Captain Hook’s smooth voice cut through the voices and laughter of the crew and Wendy shivered as she felt a familiar set of fingers pressing against the three already jammed inside her  twitching, clenching cunt. “She’ll certainly need to be able to fit more soon.”

Wendy whimpered and panted, trying to work her head away from the woman’s cunt as the three fingers were thrust roughly into her, too hard and fast to be pleasurable. When the woman pulled back and stepped away Wendy didn’t even try fighting the next woman that came to straddle Wendy’s head, the woman’s rough palms stroking over Wendy’s breasts, tugging at her nipples.

What she didn’t expect was the new set of fingers between her thighs, thrusting into her cunt roughly. Two thick, calloused fingers filling her up, rubbing against her walls.

“Fucking beautiful,” a low voice growled and Wendy gasped as two more fingers pushed into her, the four digits spreading her cunt wide. A warm, wet tongue pressed and stroked and licked inside Wendy where the girl’s silky walls tightened and fluttered and clenched. Her mouth being freed of the press of another woman’s cunt allowed Wendy to sob out a weak “stop” but she was ignored as the next crewmate climbed onto the table and straddled her face.

“Four fingers, impressive,” Hook crooned, and Wendy’s body shivered at the sound of the woman’s voice. “Stop squirming, Wendy.”

Those four fingers were pulled back and three from another hand were shoved quickly into the girl’s cunt, curving and thrusting as the woman’s thumb rubbed at the girl’s clit, making her shudder and buck against the touch.

“I told you to _stop squirming_ ,” Hook growled and Wendy jerked as she felt the woman’s fingers pressing against her ass with a firm, insistent press. “Or I will _make_ you stop.”

“No - no - no, please,” Wendy whimpered as her mouth was freed, the woman above her coming with a breathy little whine that made Wendy squirm.

“Stop moving and I will.” There was a rattle as hook sorted through the silver-clasped box, the clink of glass vial; and then Hook sank a single long finger inside Wendy’s ass, slick and oiled with something sweet-scented. Wendy shrieked, redoubling her efforts to twist away. The fingers inside her cunt were yanked back as the two - or was it three? - crewmates stepped back to let Hook toy with her.

Wendy felt herself flush with shame and humiliation, her thighs twitching and trembling at the tight, painful burn of the woman’s finger opening her up, the slick dripping from her cunt, down her taint, making the woman’s finger more easily sink into her body.

“Look at that,” the Captain murmured, smirking as she looked down at the girl. “This is something for which the whores in London charge extra.” She curled her finger and Wendy squirmed, writhing upon the digit and gasping for breath. “And you’re doing it for free.”

“No, no, no, please, don’t -” Wendy was cut off by the curl of the woman’s finger, pushing deeper and deeper into her ass until the woman was knuckle deep. When she pulled back Wendy breathed a sigh of relief. “Th-thank you, Captain Hook,” she managed, shivering at the open feeling that was left by the woman’s finger.

She stiffened when the Captain groaned and sank two fingers inside her ass. She was whimpering, sobbing, trying to wriggle away, but the knots held fast; the fingers in her ass ached more than the ones in her pussy had, they felt so strange and alien and invasive and _deep_ , deep in a way they hadn’t in her cunt. Hook leaned closer, and when she felt those long fingers inside her begin to curl she whined loudly, uncomfortable, trying to clamp shut around them and stop them from pressing inside.

“You don’t like this, Wendy?” The older woman grinned, her long, oiled curls shielding her face slightly as she leaned forward to lick over Wendy’s cunt, the girl letting out a squeal as the feeling of the hard metal stud in the other woman’s tongue made her clench tightly around the fingers inside her. “Mmm, you’re wet like you’re loving this.” Hook’s fingers thrust slowly, her tongue pressing into Wendy’s pussy as she lapped at  the copious slick that was near pouring from her dripping cunt. “Do you like me fucking your whore holes, Wendy, Darling?”

“Nnnn....” Wendy groaned, her head tilted back and her teeth clenched tightly as she tried to squirm away from the woman, only for Hook to push her fingers into the girl’s ass, knuckle deep and eager to curl her fingers until Wendy was sobbing. “Please, please, please...”

“Please what?”

“Please, not there anymore, please, not there, it’s too much, _please..._ ”

“You’re still squirming too much, Wendy.” Captain Hook pulled her fingers back until only the tips remained within her, letting Wendy catch her breath, and then thrust the digits back into her, ruthless and hard, leaving her sobbing.

“Please, please, Captain Hook, please stop,” Wendy whimpered, tears rolling down her cheeks as the woman pulled her fingers back, a sigh of relief escaping her.

She watched as the locked chest that Hook had pulled the jade phallus from was lifted onto Wendy’s stomach, the weight of it not too much to obstruct her breathing, but certainly not light. Wendy shivered, panting and watching as the lid obstructed her view of what the other woman was examining. A few items rattled within, the Captain produced a silken scarf wrapped around something only to unfurl it and reveal a wicked looking hook, this one had a heavy metal ball forged at the end rather than sharp like the one the Captain wore at her wrist.

Was she going to hang her up? Like a butcher’s cut of meat? The hook was easily as thick as three fingers and looked like polished steel, easily able to hold the weight of one of the Jolly Roger’s crew, much less Wendy’s slighter frame.

It wasn’t until the box was placed aside that Wendy could see what the other woman was doing. She placed the silk scarf aside, and examined the hook. She dipped her fingers into a coloured glass vial; her fingers emerged shining with slick oil. She spread it gently across the ball of the hook, until Wendy could see the clear oil sliding down its side. Captain Hook hummed in delight and put away the vial back into its box before she looked at Wendy, all dark hunger and delight.

“This should keep you still for me,” Captain Hook said, pressing the end of the blunt hook against the girl’s ass, making Wendy stiffen and squeal with shock. The slick from her cunt dripped and soaked between her thighs, easing the way of the hook until that first inch was inside her.

“Oh... Oh, no, no, no, no, please, don’t, no -” Wendy gasped as the hook sank in another inch, then another, slowly, carefully; the ball felt large, uncomfortable, pressing against her and twisting inside, forcing her body to mould to it. She tried to clamp down, to stop the awful intrusion, but all that did was help it slide deeper. Her eyes squeezed shut and she grit her teeth and whimpered. When finally, _finally_ felt the heavy ball slip inside her Hook paused, Wendy felt like she couldn’t breathe - she felt that surely the hook was deep enough that there was nowhere for it to go, that if she took to deep a breath she’d feel it in her throat.

“Halfway, Wendy, darling,” Captain Hook murmured, and Wendy sobbed out. Hook clicked her tongue. “Don’t fuss, sweet girl,” she said, although there was fondness in her voice. “Just lie back and think of England, why don’t you?”

Wendy felt the cold line of metal settle between the soft cheeks of her ass and she could have cried with joy, were it not for the fact that she was lying utterly, utterly still. She was terrified to do more than breathe shallowly; it felt at once much too big, much too deep, stretching her open and sending little involuntary shivers down her limbs.

The Captain smirked, still holding the end of the hook firmly in her hand. “Bosun,” she barked, and at once the tall woman pulled away herself from the arms of one of the assembled crew. “Her hair.”

Wendy didn’t dare turn her head. She was still gasping, still trying to get used to the sensation of the metal inside her, unyielding and unforgiving. Smee’s hands - surprisingly gentle - gathered her long hair, draping it off the end of the table, and began to braid it with neat efficiency. Then, there was the hiss of rope, and her head tugged back, exposing the long column of her throat, and then the hook inside her _shifted_ \- Wendy cried out - and a sudden tension, her long hair tugged taught, connected to the hook inside her by the rope as it ran beneath the table.

“Much better,” Hook said. “ _T_ _here’s_ the lovely little docile girl I know, isn’t that right? I knew you’d be still for me eventually. Good girl.”

Wendy whimpered, high and quiet in her throat.

Hook took a long moment to just watch her, a look of fierce delight dancing in her blue eyes. She trailed her fingers down Wendy’s front, circling her navel playfully and curling her hand around the point of her hip like she was measuring how her hand fit against the hollow.

“Bring me the Tokay,” she said to Smee, who was still hovering at Wendy’s elbow.

There was a heartbeat’s pause before Smee replied, incredulous, “The… the _Tokay_ , Captain?”

Hook’s eyes shuttered, her face going blank. Wendy would have cringed away in fear were she not impaled on this monstrous hook, not daring to do more than breathe shallowly. Hook’s eyes, ice cold now, dragged from Wendy to pin the bosun beneath her terrifying gaze.

“Did I fucking _stutter_ , Smee?” she said, her voice perfectly even.

“N-no, Captain,” Smee said at once, and her footsteps retreated rapidly.

Hook sat back down into the chair between Wendy’s thighs, leaning forward so she could better examine how that blunt hook was sunken into her body. She leaned a little closer, the hook at her wrist trailing up Wendy’s thigh from the inside of her knee; Wendy clenched down in fear, and gasped when the metal inside her pressed deeper.

The bosun returned with a single polished crystal glass, its cut edges casting refracted rainbows of light on Wendy’s skin as she passed it over. She set down a bottle by Wendy’s hip, the muted _thunk_ of heavy glass against the table, and backed away nervously.

“That will be all, Smee,” Hook said, and the bosun retreated.

Hook took her time. She uncorked the bottle with a practiced twist of her wrist and poured herself a generous glass. It was heavy scented, itching the back of Wendy’s throat even at a distance, dark and glimmering in the sun. She recorked the bottle and settled back into her chair, holding the glass loosely between her fingers, passing the finely cut crystal beneath her nose.

“Mmm,” she purred, eyes sliding shut as she breathed in. Wendy watched fearfully as she raised the glass to her mouth and took a measured sip. The Captain swallowed, the long column of her throat bobbing once, and lowered the glass with a contented sigh. She opened her eyes again and met Wendy’s.

“Do you know what this is, Wendy?” she said. Instinctively, Wendy tried to shake her head, only to squeal when the hook roped into her hair jostled, nudging her inside.

Captain Hook smiled, slow and wide. “Answer me,” she said.

Wendy swallowed, trying to keep still. “N-no,” she tried, through clenched teeth.

Captain Hook took another measured sip of the spice-scented drink. “Your father’s money has gone to waste, I see,” she remarked. “Do they no longer teach manners in those pretty finishing schools? Address me correctly, Wendy.”

“No, Captain Hook,” Wendy said, voice shaking.

“Full sentences, Wendy.” Warningly, threateningly, that dagger-sharp hook trailed across her stomach, settling over the tender crevice right beneath her ribs.

With the cold steel pressed so close, it took Wendy a moment to gasp, “N-n-no, Captain Hook, I don’t know what that is.”

The Captain raised her hook away from Wendy’s abdomen, and she passed the glass beneath her nose again, taking another delicate sniff. “Better,” she said. “I expect you to _behave_ , Wendy. Show me all those years and money spent on your tutors and your governesses and your pretty boarding schools weren’t a waste. You are a lady, are you not? Well-bred and well-heeled and well-educated.” She took another sip, and eyed her glass consideringly. “Although,” she amended thoughtfully, “in some areas you _are_ rather lacking, Wendy, Darling.”

She raised the glass to the light like a mocking toast. “Allow me to expand your education,” she said. “ _This_ is rum. Are you familiar with it, Wendy?”

Wendy began to shake her head, only to remember Hook’s earlier words. “N-no, Captain Hook, I’m not familiar,” she answered. Inside, the blunted hook was heavy; she was trembling with the effort to hold still, terrified of it shifting inside her any further.

Hook sniffed. “A pity,” she said. “In the hierarchies of drinks, rum is the indisputable queen. Of these, a Tokay has the power to make gods weep.” She breathed in again, savouring the scent. “It has been said that Blackbeard’s famed treasure holds an even dozen bottles of Tokay rum, prized above the rest of it. A man would gladly be condemned of piracy and hanged if it meant he could have one single sip of Tokay.” She drained the glass with a satisfied smack of her lips, and reached for the bottle to pour herself another. “But I am no man. And _I_ have an entire bottle.”

Wendy flinched when Hook lowered the glass, setting it on her lower belly. It was cold, comforting against the overheated flush of her skin. “Such a sweet girl, staying nice and still for me,” Hook crooned. “I bet, Wendy, I bet you’ll stay nice and still and balance this glass right here, for fear of moving that hook inside you.”

Wendy whimpered as Hook leaned back, her eyes fixed upon Wendy, watching her for a few moments before her fingers slid over Wendy’s thighs, gently tracing over the ropes, up along the knotted length until she reached the crevice where Wendy’s thigh met her pelvis. Wendy didn’t have to look down to know that she was flushed pink and red at her cunt where Hook’s fingers traced her, the woman pressing her thumb against her clit and earning a soft, high pitched mewl from Wendy with the movement.

Her thumb moved in a few slow motions, making Wendy’s thighs shiver and twitch, her head tilted back to keep the hook inside her from moving, before a sudden, sharp slap to her cunt made Wendy’s entire body seize. She was breathless and silent for a moment before she let out a wrecked noise, feeling the burn of the slap jolting right between her legs, lighting her entire body ablaze with sensation.

“Good girl, not a single drop spilled.” Hook stood from her chair, pacing around the table until she was by Wendy’s head. She reached over to lift the glass and drained it before placing it back upon Wendy’s stomach to remain there.

The Captain cupped her cheek, her thumb sweeping along Wendy’s lower lip. “Don’t look so frightened, pet,” she cooed, leaning in to kiss Wendy softly. Wendy couldn’t help it; she tipped her head, mouth dropping open, little whimpers against Hook’s lips. Hook smiled into the kiss, tugging Wendy’s lower lip between her teeth, sucking and nibbling on it gently before pulling away. “You’ll enjoy it once you get used to it, you’ll see,” she murmured against Wendy’s lips.

“H-huh, h-hurts,” Wendy breathed, the crystal glass balanced so precariously upon her abdomen rocking slightly with the motion.

Hook caressed her jaw, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Don’t lie to me, pet. Look at how wet you are. You’ve made _such_ a mess. I should make you get up and lick the table clean.”

A high little keening whimper burst from Wendy’s chest, but she couldn’t tell if it was fear or if it was desire. She screwed her eyes shut, hoping the Captain hadn’t noticed.

No such luck. She laughed, low in her throat, leaning forward to remove the glass and then press her lips to Wendy’s once more. “I’ll make it easy for you,” she said, and she brought her other hand - the hook - up, sliding it beneath Wendy’s head so she was cradled from the hard surface of the table. Slowly, lazily, she skated her hand down Wendy’s body, pausing to worry at her nipple or trace her fingers along the arch of her ribs. When she got to in between Wendy’s legs, Wendy whimpered again; her hips twitched up and she gasped, the hook pressing inside her in a way that made her eyelashes flutter.

“Aahhh -” Wendy cut herself off, biting her lip.

Hook parted her labia gently, teasingly, running her fingers from her pussy to her clit and back down again, circling. When she dipped the tips of her fingers into her, Wendy felt pressed tight, like it was an effort for Hook’s fingertips to push inside. She circled back up to her clit, and traced just around it, in wide, easy circles. Wendy whined, and despite herself she rocked her hips. The hook shifted inside her and she gasped.

“Felt good, didn’t it?” Hook asked her. Wendy bit her lip.

Hook clicked her tongue again and pinched Wendy’s labia, making her yelp out and flinch. “ _G_ _ood_ girls answer when they’re questioned,” Hook said. She twisted harder. “How did that feel, Wendy?”

“Y-yes, yes, it felt good!” Wendy cried out, and at once Hook released and returned to that slow, aching, teasing swirl of her fingers skating just over her clit, not quite touching. Wendy whined.

Hook watched her for a moment more. Wendy tried to turn her face away, embarrassed by the stark intensity Hook was staring at her with, but Hook’s forearm under her head blocked her. She did it again - hard rub straight onto her clit, and despite herself Wendy moaned.

“Good girl,” Hook murmured. “That’s better. There you go.”

The tears were welling in Wendy’s eyes. It felt so good, that cruel hook pressed deep inside her and her hair tugged hard and tight by the rope, blazing sensation down her spine and flaring along her ribs like a firework. Captain Hook’s hand was so gentle, circling her clit, fingers dipping in to press teasingly against that spot inside her that made her cry out, cradling her close with her other arm like a tender lover. The confusion was swelling inside her, the heady combination of Hook’s gentle tone, her kind words, her cruel actions, the laughter and the wanton moaning of the pirates nearby, the consuming shame that burned through her - it was too much, and it burst forth like a dam.

Wendy found herself weeping, great breathless sobs wracking her frame; she couldn’t raise her hands to her face, she couldn’t turn her head without nudging the heavy steel inside, and that made her cry all the harder.

“You lied!” Wendy sobbed, aching and wrecked and ruined and trembling with agonised pleasure. “You - you _lied_ to me!”

Hook nuzzled against her cheek, lips soft, pressing gentle kisses along the line of her jaw. “I do not _lie_ , Wendy Darling,” she purred. The tears overflowed Wendy’s eyes, trickling down her temples and into her hair. She sobbed, chest heaving, confused and dizzy with the way Hook was holding her so close and tender when she’d been so cruel before.

“You lied, you lied, you promised me - you promised me,” Wendy managed through her tears, “you promised me I’d have a place here. You promised - you promised me you’d have a place for me here. That - that I’d be safe here. You promised me - you promised -” Wendy couldn’t speak, overcome with awful gasping sobs.

Hook shushed her gently, pulling her fingers away from her pussy and gathering her close in her arms. Inside her, that cruel blunt hook pressed deeper, and Wendy whimpered as it sent brilliant sparks of pleasure through her, making her fingers tremble. “I promised you I’d have a place for you, Wendy Darling,” Hook murmured in her ear, “and I _do_ have a place for you.”

Wendy sniffled, trying vainly to stem her tears. It felt like a lie, but the way the woman stared at her, forget-me-not eyes so earnest and penetrating deep into Wendy’s soul. This was a woman who had fought and lied and killed and stole, but for a moment, a fraction of a second that felt like an eternity, Wendy felt that she could trust Jane Hook’s words.

“Look at you, darling girl.” Hook sighed into Wendy’s mouth, tracing her lips over her jaw and neck softly, her long black curls a perfect curtain around them. “All spread out for me like this, being so _good_. You’re my pet, Wendy, _my_ darling.” The woman’s broad, firm palm slid over Wendy’s thigh, curling against the ropes, dragging over every inch of exposed skin. “You’re too soft to work on this ship, too soft to be a cabin girl or a sailor. On this ship, you can stay as my pretty little pet, living as I know you’re used to. Pretty silk dresses and lovely rubies for you to wear in your ears, at your throat, around those pretty slender wrists.” Thin lips pressed over Wendy’s brow, her ears, her jaw, her neck, down her breasts to let the woman’s pierced tongue lap apologetically at Wendy’s tormented nipples.

Wendy hiccupped and sobbed softly, but the woman’s firm hand rubbed slowly over her ribs, her waist, her hip, soothing away the shudders of breath within her.

“One more thing for me, Wendy, my darling girl,” Hook whispered softly. “I promise you’ll like it. Haven’t you liked everything I’ve done so far?”

Pale cheeks flushed with shame as Wendy thought of the fingers, of the torment to her breasts, of the Captain’s mouth on her, and how desperately wet she was now, dripping onto the table freely.

“Just one more thing.” Hook’s calloused fingers carefully parted Wendy’s pussy, stroking over the silken folds, dipping gently inside where Wendy felt so _full_ already. “I’m a woman of my word. I keep my promises. You’ll enjoy it, Wendy, my darling.”

Wendy whimpered, staring at her, at those bright blue eyes, so jewel bright and vibrant and _expressive_ now that Wendy could get a look at them so close, pressed nose to nose like this.

She wanted to nod, but with her hair held taut and the hook still deep inside her, she couldn’t do anything but whisper, “Yes.”

Two fingers pressed inside her pussy and Wendy gasped, feeling so desperately full. With the hook still lodged inside her Wendy realised she could _feel_ where Hook’s fingers rubbed against the metal, separated only by a thin wall of flesh. Her fingers toyed and played with the ball, framing it and pressing and making Wendy shake and sob with pleasure, more wetness seeping out of her.

“Good girl,” Hook purred softly, pulling her fingers free and reaching down for one of the colourful vials, pouring oil over her fingers, up her knuckles, dripping over her hand and wrist. She rubbed the entire hand between Wendy’s thighs, over her cunt and carefully smearing the oil over Wendy’s soaked flesh as well as her own skin. “Two fingers, first, darling girl.”

Two fingers felt easier now, still so full, but easier to take.

“Relax.” Hook whispered, her eyes fixed on where her fingers disappeared inside of Wendy, stretching her open slowly.

Three fingers were as wide as the jade rod from earlier, but with the obstruction of the hook inside her ass, Wendy couldn’t help but feel like it was so much more impossible than the smooth rod.

When the woman pressed a fourth finger inside her Wendy couldn’t help but gasp, stiffening and clenching down tightly.

“No, no, Wendy, relax,” Hook shifted her fingers carefully, rubbing her thumb against Wendy’s clit in slow, even circles. “Relax for me, open up that pretty pink cunt for me.”

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t...”

“Smee,” Hook barked, and the woman turned away from where she had been kneeling between the thighs of another crewmate.

“Yes, Captain.”

“Her hands.”

Smee produced a knife from within her shirt and Wendy gasped as her wrists were cut free of their rope restraints. Her thighs were still forced wide, but her fingers, shaky as they were, were freed.

“Hold yourself open for me,” Captain Hook ordered, staring up at Wendy.

Wendy whimpered, unable to look down at the other woman, but feeling her gaze fixed on her face. She reached down carefully and if she arched her back ever so slightly more she could feel where Hook’s fingers, still and insistent, were pressed against her. She traced hesitantly over the swells of the woman’s knuckles and where they pressed against her.

“That’s it, Wendy, my darling.” Hook leaned in and Wendy gasped at the feeling of the woman’s tongue against her fingers, a tease of what she’d done earlier to Wendy’s wet cunt. “Hold your pretty pink lips open for me.”

Wendy whimpered, pressing her fingers against the silken folds, sighing when as Hook’s fingers pushed that much deeper, her knuckles grinding against where she was stretching, trying to press the knuckles past the tight clench of her body. She stiffened when she felt Hook adjust her fingers, her thumb leaving her clit in order to press alongside her fingers firmly.

“I can’t, I can’t, I - I -”

“Yes, you can, darling girl.” Hook kissed at Wendy’s thigh, the older woman licking at tender skin, at the faint marks of her bite in the skin. “Think of how good it will feel, with my hand inside you, stretching you open, feeling every inch inside you.”

Another inch, and Wendy couldn’t help the helpless mewl that escaped her.

“You like that? Like the idea of my fingers in your slutty hole? Opening you up for me?”

“Y-yes,” Wendy gasped, shivering as she felt another fraction of the woman’s hand sink inside her.

“Are you a slut, Wendy? _My_ slut? My darling little kept whore?”

The hard press seemed like it would never end, but those words pushed something inside Wendy over the edge. At last, at _last_ , she could feel her body swallow up the woman’s hand, clenching tightly around the surprisingly fragile bones of her wrist, holding the woman’s hand still inside her. Wendy could have wept in relief if not for the fact that she was holding herself as still as she possibly could. She could feel Hook moving her fingers in miniscule motions, her knuckles rubbing against the hook separated from her hand by that fragile wall of sensitive, tender flesh.

“Look at that,” Hook purred, and Wendy’s fingers fluttered against her thighs, reaching up to trace around where the other woman’s hand was swallowed by her body. “Feel that, Wendy? Feel my hand inside your whore cunt?”

“Y-yes,” Wendy gasped, staring hazily into the sky and feeling her eyes roll back as Hook began to oh so gently rock her hand. Her tongue felt leaden inside her mouth, like her muscles had turned into thick syrup, uncooperative. The moan that escaped her could not have been contained even if she had tried. “O-oh god...”

“What are you?” Hook growled. “Tell the crew exactly what you are, Wendy.”

“Y-your whore.” Wendy couldn’t help but shake at the rolling of Hook’s  hand. She knew that the Captain couldn’t be moving her hand very much, not with Wendy so tight around her, but it felt as if she were so deep inside her that Wendy could feel her in the back of her throat with each thrust.

“Again,” Captain Hook groaned into Wendy’s thigh, kissing over the pale skin. “Tell them again.”

“Your whore!” Wendy wailed, pinned in place, helpless to everything but the motions of the other woman’s hand. “I’m your whore, Captain Hook,” she babbled helplessly. “Your whore, I’m your whore, only yours, only yours -”

“Good girl, Wendy,” Hook purred, leaning in to lick over Wendy’s clit, sending another bolt of pleasure through her as she moved her fist even more insistently. “Now thank me for fucking your whore holes, darling girl.”

“Th-thank you,” Wendy managed, her voice thick as she tried to focus, tried to open her eyes, tried to do anything but endure the impossible pleasure of being so thoroughly filled and taken by the other woman.

“Thank you for what?” She could _hear_ the teasing in the woman’s tone. She whined at the feeling of the woman’s hand moving inside her.

“Thank you for fucking my whore holes.”

“Thank you for fucking my whore holes...?” Hook smirked as she pressed her lips to Wendy’s clit, barely brushing her tongue as her hand moved in slow, teasing rotations.

“Captain!” Wendy wailed, arching as much as she could as she felt the woman’s hand moving the ball inside her ass back and forth. “Thank you for fucking my whore holes, Captain Hook!”

“Perfect.” Hook sucked roughly at Wendy’s clit and the girl sobbed with need as she felt her body beginning to burn and tighten the way it had before. “Thank me again.”

“Th-thank you for fuck-fucking my whore ho-ho-oh...” Wendy’s eyes rolled back as she felt her thighs shaking. Her fingers instinctively moved to her clit, rubbing and circling the way that Captain Hook had done before, trying to imitate the patterns and motions. She could feel the Captain's cheek pressed to the inside of her thigh, watching, hungry and greedy. She nudged aside Wendy's fingers and licked her clit once, straight on, hard, and Wendy cried out.

“Finish your sentence, Wendy.”

“Th-thank you for fucking - for fucking my who-whore holes, Captain Hook,” Wendy whined, panting as she twitched and felt her body shuddering jerking. Her tongue would not cooperate, tripping over words like they were foreign in her mouth. “Oh, oh, thank you, thank you, thank you for fu-fucking my whore ho-holes, Captain Hook.”

“You’re welcome, Wendy, my darling girl.” Hook thrust her fist harder and Wendy jerked, causing the hook inside her ass to tighten and press and a sobbing scream of pleasure to escape her.

“I’m - I’m - I’m -” Wendy could feel her eyelashes trembling, her thighs trying to press together but held open, obscene and eager, for the Captain. Hook was lapping at her clit, dancing in cruel little circles that made pleasure burn through her, white hot; she clenched tightly enough that Hook grunted at the tight press.

“Come for me, Wendy,” Hook ordered, pulling her hand back slowly, the obscene, tight stretch of her knuckles making Wendy pant and give small half-aborted sobs of pleasure before the woman’s hand was free.

A rush of pleasure, like a bright light directly behind Wendy’s eyelids, hot and chilling and shivering through her body, burning trails through her veins, and Wendy was shaking, twitching, slick gushing out of her body, covering her thighs, the table, and Captain Hook’s impeccable breeches.

Her head thunked back against the table and Wendy whimpered, telegraph lines of pleasure arcing through her limbs making her thighs twitch with aftershocks.

“Gorgeous,” Hook purred, rubbing her fingers through the mess between the folds of Wendy’s wet cunt, feeling how stretched open she was. Wendy panted as she felt a few last bolts of pleasure wrung out of her before she realised that the Captain’s sinister hook was slicing through the ropes, releasing Wendy of her bonds.

The rope tied to her hair was cut and Wendy whimpered as the hook inside her was tugged carefully, her body holding too tightly to release the heavy ball with any sort of ease.

“Wendy,” Hook whispered, leaning forward. “I want it back.”

“You can have it back, you can have it back,” Wendy gasped, her brows furrowing as she tried to relax, tried to let the other woman pull the wicked implement away. She whined and then let out a little squeak as the heavy steel ball was yanked free of her body, making her feel so very empty and open and vulnerable. Her hands shakily went between her thighs, trying to shield herself from the eyes of the crew, only for Captain Hook to yank her coat off and wrap Wendy in rich red silk, lifting her easily into her strong arms.

Wendy breathed in the soft warm scent of the Captain’s skin and her soft white shirt. Beneath the cologne and the sweat and the sweet scent of her oiled curls, there was something warm and dark, like a summer night. Wendy let her eyes slide shut and hardly aware as the noisy crowd parted to let Hook through, so very distracted in their own world of hedonistic bliss.

“Smee, see to it I’m not disturbed.”

“Yes, Captain Hook,” Smee said with a nod, adjusting her spectacles from where they had been skewed in the passion of the other women. She disappeared, not among the mass of bodies, but certainly not within Wendy’s line of sight.

Hook walked through them, watching the sailors part easily for her, knowing better than to obstruct her path with Wendy bundled close against her chest. Hook carefully shifted her grip on Wendy to open the door to her quarters and they were suddenly plunged into dim half-light. Wendy raised her head off the Captain’s chest, looking around.

The captain’s quarters were opulently furnished, all rich dark wood panels and silk hangings. Wendy had the brief impression of light filtering in through stained glass windows - was it dusk already? Hook approached a plush looking feather bed, the heavy down blanket encased in a silk coverlet was tucked tightly along the edges, perfectly made, and the woman leaned forward, Wendy still in her arms, to tug the blankets back to reveal soft cotton sheets. Wendy shivered as Hook lowered her into the bed, her slender frame sinking easily within the feather mattress. Wendy sighed, closing her eyes for a moment, every muscle in her body lax. She heard Hook laugh under her breath and footsteps away from the bed, and the clink of metal and glass.

She opened her eyes, letting them adjust to the darkness of the cabin. She felt half-hypnotized by the low light, jewels and worked metal gleaming in the candelight. Four or five Persian rugs overlapped beneath a massive table pushed beneath the stained-glass windows, an enormous map pinned in place with four daggers at the corner. Her fingers reached out, as if to touch the feathered quills and the inkwells and the brass compass and sextant and telescope that lay on the surface.

It took a few moments and soon she could make out the lean form of the Captain amongst the furnishings.

Hook was bent at the china basin, carefully rinsing her hand and face, turned away from her. As she watched, Hook hung her tricorn hat upon a golden hook embedded into the wall, carefully checking to make sure the magnificent ostrich feather wasn’t bent. She removed the rest of her clothes with equal care - cravat, shirt, stockings, breeches, folding them neatly and setting them aside.

When she turned back to the bed Wendy’s eyes widen before she clenched them shut again, hoping Hook hadn’t seen. More footsteps, made soft by bare feet, and the bed dipped by her hip. And then Hook’s hand was at her cheek, cupping her jaw; she stroked Wendy’s face softly, fingers travelling up to comb her hair gently.

“I know you’re awake, darling girl,” Hook murmured softly. “Come now, let me wash you.”

Wendy peeked her eyes open, watching the Captain’s hook hand warily.

Only to realise that it was gone. The hook was carefully unbuckled and placed aside, leaving only a stump with a gruesome looking scar that reached up what was left of the Captain’s forearm. Wendy recalled telling the story of how Peter Pan had cut the hand from Captain Hook’s arm and thrown it to the crocodile. Her brothers had cheered in delight at the horrifying tale. Now she wondered how she could have told a story with such cheerful, childish glee.

“Only a scar, Wendy,” Hook said softly, as if reading her mind. “No more terrible than any other.”

Her hand reached for the cloth from the basin at her feet and she carefully cleaned over Wendy’s thighs, between her legs. She checked the burns of the rope that had been left in her skin at her calves and ankles and stood, moving to collect a salve and returning to carefully rub the thick, medicinal smelling paste into Wendy’s skin. She applied the salve with clinical efficiency between her thighs, too, Wendy jerking back reflexively, before pulling her hand back and wiping her fingers clean upon the cloth. She reached forward slowly, slowly, for Wendy’s hair; Wendy stayed still, watching with the nervousness of a fine-boned sparrow, and Hook combed her fingers gently through Wendy’s long golden curls. She leaned forward, almost bent in two like a supplicant before an altar, breathing in the scent of them, of saltwater and sweat and Wendy herself, before she pulled back.

Wendy’s eyes followed her as she moved about the cabin, naked and pale and scarred. Her shoulders were broad, corded with muscle, and her figure, while still retaining a somewhat womanly shape, was leaner in the middle than Wendy’s hourglass waist. She was heavy and lean throughout her entire frame, built for being unmoved even in the most tumultuous storm. Her long black curls were pulled back from her face, tied with a crimson ribbon at the nape of her neck, and Wendy took in the hooked nose that bore a distinct dent in the bridge, a place where the woman’s nose had been broken then reset. She had scars across her face, fainter than those over her body, but they did not detract from her beauty.

For the life of her, Wendy could not imagine Captain Hook as a high society lady, sipping politely at tea and eating dainty cakes and sandwiches, playing croquet or bridge with a lady’s club at garden parties. She was not built for those things. She was built for the sea, for adventure, for loud shameless laughter and daring feats of danger and skill, for sword fights and drinking and screaming her triumph to the skies as she fought and conquered the oceans.

Hook sighed as she laid out on the bed beside her, her long legs stretched out, her toes easily reaching the end of the large bed. Wendy could see powerful muscles of her thighs shifting beneath skin as she settled on the soft bed and her eye was drawn to a particularly vicious scar cutting across her thigh, from outer hip to inner knee.

“What - what happened there?” Wendy asked, tremulous.

“I wasn’t always Captain of the Jolly Roger,” Hook said as she reached over to the table beside the bed. There was only one, Wendy noted, and it was on the side where Hook’s remaining hand could easily reach it without forcing the woman to turn. “The Captain was a brash man, a drunkard.” A wooden pipe was collected along with a bag of tobacco.

The woman lit a match and puffed at the pipe to catch the flame and Wendy watched, enthralled, as the ember illuminated the woman’s face before Hook leaned back and clenched the wooden stem between her teeth. She placed the tobacco back in the drawer of the stand and lay back, pulling Wendy flush against her side with the arm missing a hand. “I was well liked among the crew, and made a claim for the Jolly Roger.” She looked down at the scar on her thigh. “I had him down, then he took a dagger and slashed at me before I could give the killing blow.”

“You killed him?” Wendy whispered softly.

“I’ve killed a lot of men in my lifetime, Wendy.” Hook leaned back, breathing out a perfect smoke ring from her thin, red-painted lips. “Never once met a man who didn’t deserve at least a good black eye.”

Wendy stared down at the scar before she slid her hand carefully over to it, tracing the knotted tissue from hip, along the front of her thigh, down to her inner knee. Hook let out a heavy sigh through her nose, smoke following the breath before she looked at Wendy.

“Don’t start something you won’t finish, girl,”  she said simply, closing her eyes and laying back against the mountain of feather pillows behind her. Wendy looked away from Hook’s face, trying to gather her will. She felt exhausted, wrung out in a way that she could not even begin to describe, but she wanted something she was frightened to name.

“I’ll finish it,” Wendy whispered, shifting until she was between the other woman’s bare thighs. She stared down at the triangle of dark hair between the other woman’s thighs, neatly groomed just like the rest of her.

Hook opened her eyes and gazed at her with an expression Wendy was certain no one in living memory had ever seen before - frank surprise. “Darling,” she said, lowly, and the way she said it Wendy knew it was an endearment and not just her name.

“Please?” Wendy asked, fingers trembling as she reached out to touch the Captain’s sun-warmed skin. Something in Hook’s gaze softened, then, a blush colouring the tops of her cheekbones. Wendy thought that, with her fierce blue eyes and meticulously oiled curled, the Captain looked like a Gentileschi painting - all soft skin and shadow and understated beauty. But she was not a painting; she was here, she was _real_ , the epitome of everything Wendy had ever wordlessly wanted without ever knowing its name.

Hook nodded.

She placed her palm against Hook’s thigh, simple brush of skin on skin. She felt warm to the touch, her skin at once softer and smoother than Wendy had thought it would be. She traced her fingers along that knotted scar, rubbing the pad of her thumb where it began at Hook’s hip. Hook made a breathless, surprised little noise. Wendy glanced up.

“It aches, sometimes,” Hook confessed. “That feels - that feels good.”

Emboldened, Wendy leaned forward, face tipped. The Captain brought her hand up to her face, cradling her, her other arm around her and pressing her close; Wendy closed the distance, and their lips met in soft, gentle touch.

Her mouth was warmer than the rest of her, and Wendy found herself pressing a little closer into her arms, seeking more. She tasted like the spiced rum she’d drunk earlier, the woodsy smoky taste of her pipe, tempered with something darker, sweeter, that reminded Wendy of molasses. She pressed deeper, and when Hook licked the seam of her lips coaxingly it felt like the most natural thing in the world to open her mouth and let Hook in, letting her lick hot and sweet into her mouth.

Shy, inexperienced, Wendy’s hands travelled from her cheek to her jaw, down her neck and to her waist, to her hip, her thigh, and back again, inquisitive and exploring. Like this, pressed skin close in the half-light of the quiet captain’s cabin, Wendy could feel Hook’s heartbeat jumping restlessly beneath her skin; there was softness here, vulnerability that had not been present before.

She pulled away, breathing a little harder; Hook caught her lower lip and nibbled it gently, sucking sweetly. Wendy whimpered into Hook’s mouth and melted back into her arms. She tried doing it back to her; to her surprise, Hook made a lovely little choked noise that made Wendy’s stomach flutter.

Wendy tugged back gently, kissing Hook’s cheek, her jaw, the line of her neck. Every line of muscle, where it began and where it ended, she pressed her lips to, sweet and adoring. When she nuzzled curiously against Hook’s neck, breathing in the scent she dared to slip her fingers between the woman’s legs, slipping against her cunt and feeling a dripping wetness there. Hook made a breathy little noise, her head dropping back onto the pillows.

She had the dizzying realisation that this was because of _her;_ it was _her_ soft kisses that made Hook whimper, _her_ touch that made Hook’s hand, where it was pressed to her waist, tremble. Wendy kissed her throat. A high blush was spreading down Hook’s chest, and Wendy followed it along with her mouth, kissing along her skin. Where she found a scar, she lingered over it, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to it, dragging her lips along the ridge. One scar - it looked like flash burn, perhaps a gunpowder burn - flared over the top of her right breast. Wendy made a little noise of concern, peppering little kisses to each blurred edge. It curled temptingly close to Hook’s nipple, all rosy dark, and unthinkingly Wendy dropped her head to kiss here, too.

When her mouth closed around it, Hook drew in a broken, ragged breath, and her hand found the back of Wendy’s shoulder, gripping hard. Wendy pulled back, alarmed.

“Too much?” she asked, frightened that she might have hurt her.

The Captain blinked her eyes open, laughing shakily. “No,” she said, her voice a hoarse rasp. “No, darling girl, not too much. Not enough.” She leaned forward, catching Wendy’s lips again, and when Wendy deliberately nibbled her lower lip she took great pleasure in swallowing Hook’s moan.

Wendy nuzzled her way down Hook’s body again, settling herself more firmly in her lap. She straddled Hook’s lap, one knee on the outside of each thigh, sitting in between those long, parted legs. She leaned forward, catching Hook’s nipple again to listen to more of those lovely noises, sucking and flicking her tongue like Hook had before on her; when Hook made a noise that could not be described as anything other than a whine, Wendy nibbled, too, tugging gently with her teeth.

She kissed her way across Hook’s chest, pressing fingers to her other nipple. Hook groaned at this, and Wendy took great delight in worrying at those rosy soft buds, her breasts just enough to fill the cup of Wendy’s palm.

Hook growled low in her throat, taking Wendy’s hand and pressing it to in between her legs. She was beautifully, silkily soft; Wendy couldn’t help pressing her fingers closer, dipping her fingers into that hot slick softness. Curious, Wendy raised her hand to her mouth; the slick glistened like honey in the cabin’s low light, and Wendy licked her fingers. Almost in unison, she and Hook groaned.

She rubbed through Hook’s pussy with gentle curiosity. The entrance of her felt a little further forward than Wendy’s own did, her lower lips a little fleshier than her own, more like the petals of a flower. She circled up to her clit, skating past it hesitantly with the very tip of her longest finger, and Hook moaned, hips undulating up and into Wendy’s hand.

“Oh,” Wendy breathed. She thought she had never seen anything as lovely as Hook in this moment, like this.

She wiggled down the bed, sinking onto her elbows in front of Hook’s pussy, breathing her in. She smelt wonderful, and Wendy pressed a little closer. She kissed up one thigh, nuzzling gently at the soft junction of thigh and body, watching with pleasure as the muscles in Hook’s thighs jumped, the strong cords of tendon flickering beneath skin. A little uncertain, Wendy leaned forward, and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her lover’s pussy. She tasted dark-musky-bitter-sweet, all at once, a kaleidoscope on her tongue, hot and slick and all Wendy wanted was to taste more of her.

Hook’s breath exploded from her chest. She sunk her fingers into Wendy’s hair, close to her scalp, gentle and guiding.

Wendy settled comfortably into the soft feather bed, licking up from the entrance of Hook’s pretty cunt to her clit in long, fluttering passes of the tip of her tongue. She circled Hook’s clit until the woman groaned, echoing around the cabin, hips rocking up into her mouth; Wendy toyed with the hood of her clit, and Hook made a low, frustrated growl and her hand spasmed tight in Wendy’s hair.

“Stay there,” she ordered, and Wendy was quick to obey. One hand rested upon Hook's waist to better brace herself, feeling the patchwork of scars there and tracing her fingers absently over them as her mouth worked, slow and languid against the tender flesh. She scraped her teeth lightly over the petals of the woman’s lips and suckled until she felt the fingers in her hair tighten even more. Hook’s breaths were faster now, her noises low and her fingers an insistent press against Wendy’s skull, holding her close as the girl sucked and licked and swirled her tongue between the other woman’s folds, over the hood of her clit, long flat swipes of her tongue like a cat licking cream.  

Each languid pass of her tongue made Hook’s chest heave with desperate breaths, her thighs shaking on either side of Wendy’s head, hot and silky soft against her face. Her jaw was aching, her shoulder twisted awkwardly, but she didn’t care - not with the soft little noises Hook was making, the way her fingers curled tight in her hair, how she was tugging Wendy impossibly close to her.

Hook came with a long, low moan, shivering and jerking as she rode out her orgasm, and Wendy licked and licked until Hook pushed her away with a muted gasp.

Wendy lay her cheek against the inside of Hook’s thigh, breathing hard. At her temple, Hook’s fingers were trembling, clutching at her curls slightly before she sighed and let go, hand at her elbow to pull her up.

“Such a good, darling girl,” Hook breathed, tugging Wendy closer.

There was a knock at the door just as Wendy was settled against the Captain’s chest, and before Wendy could attempt to cover herself Hook called out, “Enter.” Smee stepped into the room, the burly woman bearing in one hand a tray of food and what smelled like some sort of warm, spiced wine balanced atop. At her hip she held the small chest of Hook’s various lewd treasures. The tray and chest were both placed upon the enormous desk and Smee was quick to unload the plate of food and wine from the tray onto the stand beside Hook’s bed.

“That will be all, Smee,” Hook said in a tone that conveyed the same sort of self-satisfaction as a cat that had gotten into the cream.

Wendy flushed as the woman gave a brief bow. “Thank you, Smee.”

“You’re very welcome, Miss Darling,” Smee said with a cheery wink. The door closed behind her with a soft _thud_.  

“What’s that?” Wendy asked softly, looking at what seemed to be some form of stew.

“Turtle,” Hook replied nonchalantly.

Wendy blinked. She'd had turtle soup once, at a party her father had taken her to, and it had been bland, chewy meat. This smelled richly spiced, the meat chopped thickly and the stew itself laid out over a bed of white rice in the same way that Wendy had seen Chinese merchants plate their meals.

“Our cook is from Singapore,” Hook explained as she placed the bowl on her lap, collecting a spoon and tasting a small bite before she nodded her approval and held out the spoonful to Wendy. “She is quite skilled in her craft.”

The meat was tender and flaked apart like any other fish that Wendy had known. She watched with quiet fascination as Hook used the metal spoon to cut the meat with practiced ease, soaked with spices and broth to make it rich and savoury and flavourful. The rice was fluffy and delicious as well, and when Wendy felt herself flush from the heat of the stew’s flavour, Hook was quick to collect a goblet filled with crimson wine that glimmered she poured, holding it out to her.

“It’s delicious,” Wendy gasped between bites, letting Hook feed her easily, eagerly taking mouthful after mouthful of the delicious food. She lay her head against the other woman’s chest, sighing and pushing away the offered spoon when she was content and watching as Hook ate her own fill. She ate rapidly and efficiently, not a single drop spilled and not a single drop left behind on the delicate china.

Wendy’s eyes drooped as she watched her eat, clearing the bowl and placing it aside on the table. She took a few sips of the spiced wine and laid back, sighing as she stroked her fingers through Wendy’s soft curls.

The girl blinked as she watched Hook lift her stump arm, staring at a tattoo along the woman’s forearm. Not the typical anchors or sea creatures or ships of other sailors that Wendy had seen upon the Jolly Roger, but a crest, the black ink long faded to a greenish blue. Wendy blinked at it curiously, tracing her fingers over the design.

“I was educated at Eton College,” The woman said softly, shifting slightly so that Wendy could see the inside of her arm. “I enjoyed literature.”

“You quoted Dryden earlier,” she whispered softly, her fingers tracing over Hook’s collarbones.

“I like poetry,” Hook said dryly.

“Would you recite some for me?” Wendy asked softly, resting her head upon the woman’s chest.

Hook nuzzled gently against the crown of her head. She rested her cheek against her, tugged close in her embrace, and murmured in Wendy’s ear,

 _“With a sweet emotion:_  
_Nothing in the world is single;_  
_All things by a law divine_  
_In another's being mingle-_  
_Why not I with thine?”_

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> James Hook going to Eton is actually canon and mentioned in passing in the 1904 play by J. M. Barrie. 
> 
>  _“The pains of love be far sweeter than all other pleasures are_.” John Dryden, from “Tyrannic Love or The Royal Martyr”, Act IV Sc. 1 (1669) 
> 
>  _“How now, my love! Why is your cheek so pale? How chance the Roses there do fade so fast?”_ William Shakespeare, from “A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act I Sc. 1 (1595) 
> 
>  _“With a sweet emotion;_  
>  _Nothing in the world is single;_  
>  _All things by a law divine_  
>  _In another's being mingle-_  
>  _Why not I with thine?”_  
>  Percy Bysshe Shelley, from “Love’s Philosophy”, Lines 4-8 (1819)
> 
> * * *
> 
> [kamikazesoundsociety’s tumblr](http://kamikazesoundsociety.tumblr.com/) 
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> [L. M. Bigg’s tumblr](http://lmbiggs.tumblr.com/) 
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>  
> 
> [ Link to the pretty triptych moodboard for this fic here.](http://kamikazesoundsociety.tumblr.com/post/171672522027/whileyoustillcan-in-which-wendy-returns-to)
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> 
> Come say hi on tumblr! We both love receiving questions and prompts (we might even write a little something in response). Please let us know what you thought of our writing in the comments below! 
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